THE  AN  GEL 

of  the 

GlLA 


CORA  MARSLAND 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


C&~#< 

/ 


She  forgot  the  flowers  in  her  arms,  forgot  the  sunset^ 
and  stood  entranced  in  prayer. 


THE 
ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

A  Tale  of  Arizona 
CORA   MARSLAND 


With  Illustrations  by 
8.  8.  HICKS  and  GEM  VAUGHN 


RICHARD  G.  BADGER 

THE  GORHAM  PRESS 

BOSTON 


COPYRIGHT,  1911,  BY  RICHARD  G.  BADGER 


All  Rights  Reserved 


THE  GORHAM  PRESS,  BOSTON,  U.  8.  A. 


TO  MY  MOTHER 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTEB  PAGE 

I     THE  MINING   CAMP 11 

II    THE  DAWN  OF  A  NEW  DAY 19 

III  CLAYTON  RANCH 30 

IV  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 41 

V    THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  BALL 57 

VI    A  SOUL'S  AWAKENING 78 

VII     THE  GILA  CLUB 89 

VIII    THE  Cow  LASSES  . 107 

IX    A  VISIT  AT  MUEPHY  RANCH 117 

X    CARLA  EARLE 132 

XI    AN  EVENTFUL  DAY 140 

XII    CHRISTMAS  DAY 154 

XIII  THE  ADOPTION  OF  A  MOTHER 167 

XIV  THE  GREAT  TRANSFORMATION 182 

XV    SOME  SOCIAL  EXPERIENCES 194 

XVI    OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS 205 

XVII    THE  GREAT  RACE 217 

XVIII    NIGHT  ON  THE  RANGE 225 

XIX    INASMUCH 238 

XX    A  WOMAN'S  No 241 

XXI    THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW 248 

XXII    THE  GREATEST  OF  THESE  is  LOVE 265 

XXIII    AT  SUNSET 271 

XXIV  AFTERMATH                                                                     .  278 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 


The  Angel  of  The  Gila 


CHAPTER  I 

THE    MINING    CAMP 

IT  was  an  October  day  in  Gila,*  Arizona.     The  one 
street  of  the  mining  camp  wound  around  the  foot- 
hills, and  led  eastward  to  Line  Canyon,  which,  at 
that   point,   divides   Arizona  from   New   Mexico. 
Four  saloons,  an  opium  den,  a  store  of  general 
merchandise, — owned  and  operated  by  the  mining  com- 
pany,— a    repair    shop,    one    large,    pretentious    adobe 
house, — the  headquarters  of  the  company,  where  super- 
intendent,  assayers,   and   mining  engineers  boarded,— 
several  small  dwelling  houses,  and  many  miners'  shacks, 
constituted  the  town. 

A  little  further  to  the  eastward,  around  a  bend  in 
the  foothills,  and  near  Line  Canyon,  lay  Clayton  Ranch, 
— the  most  historic,  as  well  as  the  most  picturesque  spot 
in  that  region.  Near  the  dwelling  house,  but  closer  to 
the  river  than  the  Clayton  home,  stood  a  little  adobe 
schoolhouse. 

The  town,  facing  south,  overlooked  Gila  River  and 
its  wooded  banks.  Beyond  the  Gila,  as  in  every  direc- 
tion, stretched  foothills  and  mountains.  Toward  the 
south  towered  Mt.  Graham,  the  highest  peak  of  the 
Pinaleno  range,  blue  in  the  distance,  and  crowned  with 
snow. 

Up   a  pathway  of  the  foothills,  west  of  the  town, 

*Pronounced  h€  la. 

11 


12  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

bounding  forward  as  if  such  a  climb  were  but  joy  to 
her,  came  a  slight,  girlish  figure.  She  paused  now  and 
then  to  turn  her  face  westward,  watching  the  changing 
colors  of  sunset. 

At  last  she  reached  a  bowlder,  and,  seating  herself, 
leaned  against  it,  removed  her  sombrero  hat,  pushed  back 
the  moist  curls  from  her  forehead,  and  turned  again  to 
the  sunset.  The  sun,  for  one  supreme  moment,  poised  on 
a  mountain  peak,  then  slowly  sank,  flashing  its  message 
of  splendor  into  the  majestic  dome  of  the  sky,  over 
snow-capped  mountains,  over  gigantic  cliffs  of  red  sand- 
stone, over  stretches  of  yellow  foothills,  and  then  caught 
the  white-robed  figure,  leaning  against  the  bowlder,  in 
its  rosy  glow.  The  girl  lifted  her  fine,  sensitive  face. 
Again  she  pushed  the  curls  from  her  forehead.  As  she 
lifted  her  arm,  her  sleeve  slipped  back,  revealing  an 
arm  and  hand  of  exquisite  form,  and  patrician  to  the 
tips  of  the  fingers. 

She  seemed  absorbed  in  the  scene  before  her,  un- 
conscious that  she  was  the  loveliest  part  of  it.  But 
if  she  was  unconscious  of  the  fact,  a  horseman  who 
drew  rein  a  short  distance  away,  and  who  watched  her 
intently  a  few  moments,  was  not.  At  last  the  girl 
stirred,  as  though  to  continue  on  her  way.  Instantly 
the  horseman  gave  his  horse  a  sharp  cut  with  his  whip, 
and  went  cantering  up  the  ascent  before  her. 

The  sudden  sound  of  a  horse's  hoofs  startled  her, 
and  she  glanced  up  to  see  the  horseman  and  his  thor- 
oughbred speeding  toward  the  town. 

She  swung  her  sombrero  hat  over  her  shoulder,  and 
gathered  up  her  flowers;  then,  with  a  lingering  glance 
to  westward,  turned  and  walked  rapidly  toward  Gila. 

By  the  time  she  had  reached  the  one  long  street,  many 
cowboys  and  miners  had  already  congregated  about  the 


THE  MINING  CAMP  13 

saloons.  She  dreaded  to  pass  there  at  this  hour,  but 
this  she  must  do  in  order  to  reach  Clayton  Ranch, 
nearly  a  mile  beyond. 

As  she  drew  near  one  saloon,  she  heard  uproarious 
laughter.  The  voices  were  loud  and  boisterous.  It  was 
impossible  for  her  to  escape  hearing  what  was  said.  It 
was  evident  to  her  that  she  herself  was  at  that  moment 
the  topic  of  conversation. 

"She'll  git  all  the  Bible  school  she  wants  Sunday 
afternoon,  or  my  name's  not  Pete  Tompkins,"  ejacu- 
lated a  bar-tender  as  he  stepped  to  the  bar  of  a  saloon. 

"What 're  ye  goin'  ter  do,  Pete?"  asked  a  young 
miner.  "I'm  in  f'r  y'r  game,  or  my  name  ain't  Bill 
Hines." 

"I?"  answered  the  individual  designated  as  Pete 
Tompkins,  "I  mean  ter  give  'er  a  reception,  Bill,  a 
reception."  Here  he  laughed  boisterously.  "I  repeat 
it,"  he  said.  "I'll  give  'er  a  reception,  an'  conterive 
ter  let  'er  understan'  that  no  sech  infernal  business  as 
a  Bible  school  11  be  tol'ated  in  these  yere  parts  o' 
Arizony.  Them  as  wants  ter  join  me  in  smashin'  this 
cussed  Sunday  business  step  ter  the  bar.  I'll  treat  the 
hull  blanked  lot  o'  ye." 

The  girl  passing  along  the  street  shuddered.  The 
brutal  voice  went  on: 

' ( Set  up  the  glasses  o '  whiskey,  Keith.  Here,  Jess  an ' 
Kate.  We  want  yer  ter  have  a  hand  in  smashin'  this 
devilish  Bible  school.  Another  glass  fur  Jess,  Keith,  an' 
one  fur  Kate." 

The  pedestrian  quickened  her  pace,  but  still  the  voice 
followed  her. 

"Here's  ter  y'r  healths,  an'  ter  the  smashin'  o'  the 
Bible  school,  an'  ter  the  reception  we'll  give  the  new 
schoolma'am." 


14  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

The  stranger  heard  the  clink  of  glasses,  mingled 
with  the  uproar  of  laughter.  Then  she  caught  the 
words : 

' 'Ye  don't  jine  us,  Hastings.  P'r'aps  y're  too  'rister- 
cratic,  or  p'r'aps  y're  gone  on  the  gal!  Ha-ha-ha-ha!" 

The  saloon  rang  with  the  laughter  of  the  men  and 
women. 

The  girl  who  had  just  passed  quickened  her  pace, 
her  cheeks  tingling  with  indignation.  As  she  hastened 
on,  the  man  addressed  as  Hastings  replied  haughtily: 

"I  am  a  man,  and  being  a  man  I  cannot  see  insult 
offered  to  any  woman,  especially  when  that  woman  is 
making  an  effort  to  do  some  good  in  this  Godless 
region. ' ' 

"He's  gone  on  'er,  sure,  Bill.  Ha-ha-ha-ha!  Imag- 
ine me,  Pete  Tompkins,  gone  on  the  schoolma'am! 
Ha-ha-ha-ha!" 

His  companions  joined  in  his  laughter. 

"What'ud  she  think  o'  my  figger,  Bill?"  he  asked, 
as  he  strutted  across  the  saloon.  "How  'ud  I  look  by 
'er  side  in  Virginny  reel,  eh?  I'm  afeard  it  'ud  be 
the  devil  an'  angel  in  comp'ny.  Ha-ha-ha!" 

"Y're  right  thar,"  replied  one  of  the  men.  "Ye 
certain  are  a  devil,  an '  she  do  look  like  a  angel. ' ' 

"Say,  fellers,"  said  Bill  Hines,  "me  an'  Pete  an'  all 
o'  ye  ought  ter  git  some  slime  from  the  river,  an'  throw 
on  them  white  dresses  o'  hern.  I  don't  like  nobody 
settin'  theirselves  up  to  be  better 'n  we  be,  even  in 
clo'es,  do  ye,  Jess?" 

Jess  agreed  with  him. 

"What's  all  this  noise  about?"  interrupted  a  new 
comer. 

"Hello,  Mark  Clifton,  is  that  you?  Well,  me  an' 
Bill  an'  Jess  an'  the  other  kids  is  plannin'  ter  smash 


THE  MINING  CAMP  15 

schoolma'am's  Bible  school,  Sunday.  We're  goin'  ter 
give  'er  a  reception. " 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  Clifton. 

"Ye  kin  jine  the  party  an'  we'll  show  yer." 

"Let  me  urge  you  to  leave  Miss  Bright  alone.  She 
has  not  harmed  you.  Leave  the  Bible  school  alone, 
too,  and  attend  to  your  own  business." 

"Oh,  he's  a  saint,  ain't  he!  He  is!"  sneered  Pete 
Tompkins.  "What "about  this  gal  as  he  has  with  him 
here?  More  whiskey!  Fill  up  the  glasses,  Keith. 
Come,  Jess.  Come,  Kate  Harraday."  And  the  half- 
intoxicated  man  swung  one  woman  around  and  tried  to 
dance  a  jig,  failing  in  which,  he  fell  to  the  floor  puff- 
ing and  swearing. 

Mark  Clifton's  face  darkened.  He  grasped  a  chair 
and  stepped  forward,  as  if  to  strike  the  speaker.  He 
hesitated.  As  he  did  so,  a  handsome  cowboy  entered, 
followed  by  a  little  Indian  boy  of  perhaps  six  years  of 
age. 

"What's  the  row,  Hastings?"  asked  the  cowboy  in  a 
low  voice. 

"Pete  Tompkins  and  Bill  Hines  and  their  ilk  are 
planning  to  give  Miss  Bright,  the  new  teacher,  some 
trouble  when  she  attempts  to  start  a  Bible  school  to- 
morrow afternoon.  Clifton  remonstrated,  and  they 
taunted  him  about  Carla  Earle.  That  enraged  him." 

"What  do  they  plan  ter  do?" 

"I  fancy  they'll  do  every  blackguard  thing  they  can 
think  of.  They  are  drunk  now,  but  when  they  are 
sober  they  may  reconsider.  At  any  rate,  the  decent 
men  of  the  camp  ought  to  be  on  the  spot  to  protect  that 
girl,  Harding." 

"I'll  be  there  fur  one,  Hastings.  Have  yer  seen 
'er?" 


16  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"Yes.  As  I  rode  into  camp  just  now  I  passed  some- 
one I  took  to  be  Miss  Bright." 

"Pretty  as  a  picter,  ain't  she?"  said  Jack  Harding. 

"Look,  there  she  goes  around  the  bend  of  the  road 
towards  Claytons'.  There  goes  y'r  teacher,  Wathe- 
mah." 

The  Indian  child  bounded  to  the  door. 

"Me  teacher,  me  teacher,"  he  said  over  and  over 
to  himself,  as  he  watched  the  receding  figure. 

"Your  teacher,  eh,  sonny,"  said  Kenneth  Hastings 
smiling.  He  laid  his  hand  on  the  child's  head. 

"Yes,  me  teacher,"  said  the  boy  proudly. 

His  remark  was  overheard  by  Pete  Tompkins. 

* '  Lookee  here,  boys !  There  goes  Wathemah  's  teacher. 
Now's  y'r  chance,  my  hearties.  See  the  nat'ral  cur'- 
osity  as  is  to  start  a  religion  shop,  an'  grind  us  fellers 
inter  angels.  Are  my  wings  sproutin'?" 

As  he  spoke  the  words,  he  flapped  his  elbows  up  and 
down.  Kenneth  Hastings  and  Jack  Harding  exchanged 
glances.  Mark  Clifton  had  gone. 

Pete  Tompkins  hereupon  stepped  to  the  door  and 
called  out: 

"Three  cheers  fur  the  angel  o'  the  Gila,  my  hearties. 
One,  two,  three!  Now!  That's  it.  Now!  Death  to 
the  Bible  school!  " 

"Death  to  the  Bible  school!"  shouted  they  in  unison. 

The  little  Indian  heard  their  words.  He  knew  that 
insult  and,  possibly,  injury  threatened  his  teacher,  and, 
stepping  up  to  Pete  Tompkins,  he  kicked  his  shins  with 
all  his  childish  strength,  uttering  oaths  that  drew  forth 
hilarious  laughter  from  the  men. 

"Y're  a  good  un,"  said  one. 

"Give  'im  a  trounce  in  the  air,"  added  another. 

In  a  moment,  the  child  was  tossed  from  one  to  an- 


THE  MINING  CAMP  17 

other,  his  passionate  cries  and  curses  mingling  with 
their  ribald  laughter.  At  last  he  was  caught  by  John 
Harding,  who  held  him  in  his  arms. 

''Never  mind,  Wathemah,"  he  said  soothingly. 

Hoarse  with  rage,  the  child  shrieked,  "You  blankety 
blanked  devils!  You  blankety  blanked  devils!" 

A  ruffian   cursed  him. 

He  was  wild.  He  struggled  to  free  himself,  to  re- 
turn to  the  fray,  but  Jack  Harding  held  him  fast. 

"You  devils,  devils,  devils!"  he  shrieked  again.  His 
little  frame  trembled  with  anger,  and  he  burst  into 
tears. 

"Never  mind,  little  chap,"  said  his  captor,  drawing 
him  closer,  "ye  go  with  me." 

For  once  John  Harding  left  the  saloon  without  touch- 
ing liquor.  The  Indian  child  was  clasped  in  his  arms. 
When  he  reached  a  place  beyond  the  sound  of  the  men's 
voices,  he  set  the  little  lad  on  his  feet.  He  patted  him 
on  the  head,  and  looked  down  compassionately  into  the 
tear-stained  face. 

"Poor  little  chap,"  he  said,  "poor  little  chap.  Y're 
like  me,  ain't  ye?  Ye  ain't  got  nobody  in  the  world. 
Let 's  be  pards,  Wathemah ! ' ' 

"Pards?"  repeated  the  child  between  sobs. 

"Yes,  pards,  sonny.     That's  what  I  said." 

Wathemah  clasped  his  arms  about  Jack's  knees. 

"Me  teacher  pard  too?"  he  asked,  trying  bravely  to 
stop  crying. 

"Yourn,  not  mine,  sonny,"  answered  Harding,  smil- 
ing. Then  hand  in  hand,  they  strolled  toward  Clayton 
Kanch.  And  this  was  the  strengthening  of  the  com- 
radeship between  the  two,  which  was  as  loyal  as  it  was 
tender. 

Kenneth  Hastings  overtook  them,  then  passed  them. 


18  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

He  reached  Clayton  Eanch,  hesitated  a  moment,  then 
walked  rapidly  toward  Line  Canyon. 

For  some  indefinable  reason  he  did  not  call  that 
evening  at  Clayton  Kanch  as  was  his  custom,  nor  did 
he  knock  at  that  door  for  many  days.  On  the  follow- 
ing Monday,  he  was  called  to  a  distant  mining  camp, 
where  he  was  detained  by  business.  So  it  happened 
that  he  was  one  of  the  last  to  meet  the  new  teacher 
whose  coming  was  to  mean  so  much  to  his  life  and  to 
the  people  of  Gila. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    DAWN   OF    A   NEW   DAY 

FOB  many  days,  public  attention  had  been  cen- 
tered upon  Esther  Bright,  the  new  teacher 
in  Gila.  Her  grasp  of  the  conditions  of  the 
school,  her  power  to  cope  with  the  lawless 
element  there,  and  her  absolute  mastery  of 
the  situation  had  now  become  matters  of  local  history. 
Her  advent  in  Gila  had  been  a  nine  days'  wonder  to  the 
Gilaites;  now,  her  presence  there  had  come  to  be  re- 
garded as  a  matter  of  course. 

Every  new  feature  introduced  into  the  school  life, 
every  new  acquaintance  made,  deepened  her  hold  upon 
the  better  life  of  the  community.  Moreover,  her  vital 
interest  in  the  people  awakened  in  them  a  responsive 
interest  in  her. 

Fearlessly  she  tramped  the  foothills  and  canyons, 
returning  laden  with  flowers  and  geological  specimens. 
Learning  her  interest  in  these  things,  many  people  of 
the  camp  began  to  contribute  to  her  collections. 

Here  in  the  Rockies,  Nature  pours  out  her  treasures 
with  lavish  hand.  White  men  had  long  dwelt  in  the 
midst  of  her  marvelous  wealth  of  scenic  beauty,  amaz- 
ingly ignorant  of  any  values  there  save  that  which  had 
a  purchasing  power  and  could  be  counted  in  dollars 
and  cents. 

The  mountains  were  ministering  to  the  soul  life  of 
Esther  Bright.  The  strength  of  the  hills  became  hers. 
Nature's  pages  of  history  lay  open  before  her;  but  more 

19 


20  THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  GILA 

interesting  to  her  than  cell  or  crystal,  or  tree  or  flower, 
or  the  shining  company  of  the  stars,  were  the  human 
beings  she  found  fettered  by  ignorance  and  sin.  The 
human  element  made  demands  upon  her  mind  and  heart. 
Here  was  something  for  her  to  do.  If  they  had  been  a 
colony  of  blind  folk  or  cripples,  their  condition  could 
not  have  appealed  more  strongly  to  her  sympathy. 
Profanity,  gambling,  drunkenness  and  immorality  were 
about  her  everywhere.  The  vices  of  the  adults  had 
long  been  imitated  as  play  by  the  children.  So  one 
of  Esther  Bright 's  first  innovations  in  school  work  was 
to  organize  play  and  teach  games,  and  be  in  the  midst 
of  children  at  play.  She  was  philosopher  enough  to 
realize  that  evil  habits  of  years  could  not  be  uprooted 
at  once;  but  she  did  such  heroic  weeding  that  the  play- 
ground soon  became  comparatively  decent.  How  to 
save  the  children,  and  how  to  help  the  older  people  of 
the  community  were  absorbing  questions  to  her.  She 
was  a  resourceful  woman,  and  began  at  once  to  plan 
wisely,  and  methodically  carried  out  her  plans.  In  her 
conferences  with  Mr.  Clayton,  her  school  trustee,  she 
repeatedly  expressed  her  conviction  that  the  greatest 
work  before  them  was  to  bring  this  great  human  need 
into  vital  relation  with  God.  So  it  came  about  very 
naturally  that  a  movement  to  organize  a  Bible  school 
began  in  Gila. 

Into  every  home,  far  and  near,  went  Esther  Bright, 
always  sympathetic,  earnest  and  enthusiastic.  Her  en- 
thusiasm proved  contagious.  There  had  been  days  of 
this  house  to  house  visitation,  and  now  the  day  of  the 
organization  of  the  Bible  school  was  at  hand. 

In  the  morning,  Esther  went  to  the  schoolhouse  to 
see  that  all  was  in  readiness.  She  paused,  as  she  so 
often  did,  to  wonder  at  the  glory  of  the  scene.  The 


THE  DAWN  OF  A  NEW  DAY  21 

schoolhouse  itself  was  a  part  of  the  picture.  It  was 
built  of  huge  blocks  of  reddish  brown  adobe,  crumbled 
at  the  corners.  The  red  tile  roof  added  a  picturesque 
bit  of  color  to  the  landscape.  Just  above  the  roof,  at 
the  right,  rose  an  ample  chimney.  At  the  left,  and  a 
little  back  of  the  schoolhouse,  towered  two  giant  cac- 
tuses. To  the  north,  stretched  great  barren  foothills, 
like  vast  sand  dunes  by  the  sea,  the  dreariness  of  their 
gray-white,  or  reddish  soil  relieved  only  by  occasional 
bunches  of  gray-green  sage,  mesquite  bushes,  cacti  and 
the  Spanish  dagger,  with  its  sword-like  foliage,  and  tall 
spikes  of  seed-pods. 

Beyond  the  foothills,  miles  away,  though  seeming 
near,  towered  rugged,  cathedral-like  masses  of  snow- 
capped mountains.  The  shadows  flitted  over  the  earth, 
now  darkening  the  mountain  country,  now  leaving  floods 
of  light. 

All  along  the  valley  of  the  Gila  Eiver,  stretched  great 
fields  of  green  alfalfa.  Here  and  there,  above  the 
green,  towered  feathery  pampas  plumes. 

The  river,  near  the  schoolhouse,  made  a  bend  north- 
ward. Along  its  banks  were  cotton  wood  trees,  aspen, 
and  sycamore,  covered  with  green  mistletoe,  and  tangles 
of  vines.  No  wonder  Esther  paused  to  drink  in  the 
beauty.  It  was  a  veritable  garden  of  the  gods. 

At  last  she  entered  the  schoolhouse.  She  carried 
with  her  Bibles,  hymn  books,  and  lesson  leaves,  all  con- 
tributions from  her  grandfather.  Already,  the  room  was 
decorated  with  mountain  asters  of  brilliant  colors.  She 
looked  around  with  apparent  satisfaction,  for  the  room 
had  been  made  beautiful  with  the  flowers.  She  passed 
out,  locked  the  door,  and  returned  to  the  Clayton  home. 

In  the  saloons,  all  that  morning,  the  subject  of  gos- 
sip had  been  the  Bible  school.  John  Harding  and  Ken- 


22  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

neth  Hastings,  occasionally  sauntering  in,  gathered 
that  serious  trouble  was  brewing  for  the  young  teacher. 

The  hour  for  the  meeting  drew  near.  As  Esther  ap- 
proached the  schoolhouse,  she  found  perhaps  forty  peo- 
ple, men,  women  and  children,  grouped  near  the  door. 
Some  of  the  children  ran  to  meet  her,  Wathemah,  the 
little  Indian,  outrunning  all  of  them.  He  trudged  along 
proudly  by  his  teacher's  side. 

Esther  Bright  heard  groans  and  hisses.  As  she 
looked  at  the  faces  before  her,  two  stood  out  with 
peculiar  distinctness, — one,  a  proud,  high-bred  face;  the 
other,  a  handsome,  though  dissipated  one. 

There  were  more  hisses  and  then  muttered  insults. 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  sounds  or  meaning.  The 
Indian  child  sprang  forward,  transformed  into  a  fury. 
He  shook  his  little  fist  at  the  men,  as  he  shouted, 

1  'Ye  Wathemah  teacher  hurt,  Wathemah  kill  ye 
blankety  blanked  devils. " 

A  coarse  laugh  arose  from  several  men. 

"What 're  yer  givin'  us,  kid?"  said  one  man,  stag- 
gering forward. 

"Wathemah  show  ye,  ye  blankety  blanked  devil," 
shrieked  he  again. 

Wild  with  rage,  the  child  rushed  forward,  uttering 
oaths  that  made  his  teacher  shudder.  She  too  stepped 
rapidly  forward,  and  clasped  her  arms  about  him. 
He  fought  desperately  for  release,  but  she  held  him, 
speaking  to  him  in  low,  firm  tones,  apparently  trying 
to  quiet  him.  At  last,  he  burst  into  tears  of  anger. 

For  a  moment,  the  mutterings  and  hisses  ceased,  but 
they  burst  forth  again  with  greater  strength.  The 
child  sprang  from  his  teacher,  leaped  like  a  squirrel  to 
the  back  of  one  of  the  ruffians,  climbed  to  his  shoulder, 
and  dealt  lightning  blows  upon  his  eyes  and  nose  and 


THE  DAWN  OF  A  NEW  DAY  23 

mouth.  The  man  grasped  him  and  hurled  him  with 
terrific  force  to  the  ground.  The  little  fellow  lay  in  a 
helpless  heap  where  he  had  fallen.  Esther  rushed  to  the 
child  and  bent  over  him.  All  the  brute  seemed  roused 
in  the  drunken  man.  He  lunged  toward  her  with 
menacing  fists,  and  a  torrent  of  oaths. 

" Blank  yer!"  he  said,  "Yer  needn't  interfere  with 
me.  Blank  y'r  hide.  Yer'll  git  out  o'  Gila  ter-morrer, 
blank  yer!" 

But  he  did  not  observe  the  three  stern  faces  at  the 
right  and  left  of  Esther  Bright  and  the  prostrate  child. 
Three  men  with  guns  drawn  protected  them. 

The  men  who  had  come  to  insult  and  annoy  knew  well 
that  if  they  offered  further  violence  to  the  young  teacher 
and  the  unconscious  child,  they  would  have  to  reckon 
with  John  Clayton,  Kenneth  Hastings  and  John  Hard- 
ing. Wordless  messages  were  telegraphed  from  eye  to 
eye,  and  one  by  one  the  ruffians  disappeared. 

Esther  still  knelt  by  Wathemah.  He  had  been 
stunned  by  the  fall.  Water  revived  him;  and  after  a 
time,  he  was  able  to  walk  into  the  schoolhouse. 

Oh,  little  child  of  the  Open,  so  many  years  misunder- 
stood, how  generously  you  respond  with  love  to  a 
little  human  kindness!  How  bitterly  you  resent  a 
wrong! 

Afterwards,  in  describing  what  Miss  Bright  did  dur- 
ing this  trying  ordeal,  a  Scotch  miner  said: 

"The  lass's  smile  fair  warmed  the  heart.  It  was  na 
muckle,  but  when  she  comforted  the  Indian  bairn  I 
could  na  be  her  enemy. ' ' 

As  Esther  entered  the  door,  she  saw  two  middle-aged 
Scotch  women  clasp  hands  and  exchange  words  of  greet- 
ing. She  did  not  dream  then,  nor  did  she  know  until 
months  after,  how  each  of  these  longed  for  her  old  home 


24  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

in  Scotland;  nor  did  she  know,  at  that  time,  how  the 
heart  of  each  one  of  them  had  warmed  towards  her. 

Several  women  and  children  and  a  few  men  followed 
the  teacher  into  the  schoolroom.  All  looked  around 
curiously. 

Esther  looked  into  the  faces  before  her,  some  dull, 
others  hard;  some  worn  by  toil  and  exposure;  others 
disfigured  by  dissipation.  They  were  to  her,  above 
everything  else,  human  beings  to  be  helped ;  and  ministra- 
tion to  their  needs  became  of  supreme  interest  to  her. 

There  were  several  Scotch  people  in  the  audience. 
As  the  books  and  lesson  leaves  were  passed,  Esther  gave 
out  a  hymn  the  children  knew,  and  which  she  fancied 
might  be  familiar  to  the  Scotch  people  present, — "My 
Ain  Countrie." 

She  lifted  her  guitar,  played  a  few  opening  chords, 
and  sang, 

"I  am;  far  frae  my  hame,  an'  I'm  weary  aftenwhiles 

For    the    longed-for    hame-bringin',    an'    my    Faither's    welcome 

smiles ; 

An'  I'll  ne'er  be  fu'  content,  until  mine  een  do  see 
The  gowden  gates  o'  Heaven,  an'  my  ain  countrie." 

At  first  a  few  children  sang  with  her,  but  finding  their 
elders  did  not  sing,  they,  too,  stopped  to  listen. 

The  two  Scotch  women,  who  sat  side  by  side,  listened 
intently.  One  reached  out  and  clasped  the  hand  of 
the  other;  and  then,  over  the  cheeks  furrowed  by  toil,  pri- 
vation and  heart-hunger,  tears  found  their  unaccustomed 
way. 

The  singer  sang  to  the  close  of  the  stanza,  then  urged 
all  to  sing  with  her.  A  sturdy  Scotchman,  after  clear- 
ing his  throat,  spoke  up : 

"Please,  Miss,  an'  will  ye  sing  it  all  through  y'rsel? 
It  reminds  me  o'  hame." 


THE  DAWN  OF  A  NEW  DAY  25 

Applause  followed.  The  singer  smiled,  then  lifting 
her  guitar,  sang  in  a  musical  voice,  the  remaining 
stanzas. 

When  she  prayed,  the  room  grew  still.  The  low, 
tender  voice  was  speaking  as  to  a  loving,  compassionate 
Father.  One  miner  lifted  his  head  to  see  the  Being  she 
addressed,  and  whose  presence  seemed  to  fill  the  room. 
All  he  saw  was  the  shining  face  of  the  teacher.  Months 
later,  he  said  confidentially  to  a  companion  that  he  would 
acknowledge  that  though  he  had  never  believed  in  *  *  such 
rot  as  a  God  an '  all  them  things, ' '  yet  when  the  teacher 
prayed  that  day,  he  somehow  felt  that  there  was  a  God, 
and  that  he  was  right  there  in  that  room.  And  he 
added : 

"I  felt  mighty  queer.  I  reckon  I  wasn't  quite  ready 
ter  have  Him  look  me  through  an'  through." 

From  similar  testimony  given  by  others  at  various 
times,  it  is  clear  that  many  that  day  heard  themselves 
prayed  for  for  the  first  time  in  their  lives.  And  they 
did  not  resent  it. 

The  prayer  ended.  A  hush  followed.  Then  the  les- 
son of  the  day  was  taught,  and  the  school  was  organized. 
At  the  close,  the  teacher  asked  all  who  wished  to  help 
in  the  Bible  school  to  remain  a  few  moments. 

Many  came  to  express  their  good  will.  One  Scotch 
woman  said, 

"I  dinna  wonder  the  bairns  love  ye.  Yir  talk  the 
day  was  as  gude  as  the  sermons  i'  the  Free  Kirk  at 
hame." 

Then  another  Scotch  woman  took  both  of  Esther 
Bright 's  hands  in  her  own,  and  assured  her  it  was  a  long 
day  since  she  had  listened  to  the  Word. 

"But,"  she  added,  "whatever  Jane  Carmichael  can 
dae  tae  help  ye,  Lassie,  she'll  dae  wi'  a'  her  heart." 


26  THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  GILA 

The  first  of  the  two  stepped  forward,  saying  apolo- 
getically, 

"I  forgot  tae  say  as  I  am  Mistress  Burns,  mither  o' 
Marget  an'  Jamesie." 

"And  I,"  added  the  other,  "am  the  mither  o' 
Donald." 

Mr.  Clayton,  elected  superintendent  at  the  organiza- 
tion of  the  Bible  school,  now  joined  the  group  about  the 
teacher.  At  last  the  workers  only  remained,  and  after 
a  brief  business  meeting,  they  went  their  several  ways. 
Evidently  they  were  thinking  new  thoughts. 

Mrs.  Burns  overtook  Mrs.  Carmichael  and  remarked 
to  her, 

"I  dinna  ken  why  the  Almichty  came  sae  near  my 
heart  the  day,  for  I  hae  wandered.  God  be  thankit, 
that  He  has  sent  the  lassie  amang  us." 

"Aye,"  responded  Mrs.  Carmichael,  "let  us  be  thank- 
fu',  an'  come  back  hame  tae  God." 

Esther  Bright  was  the  last  to  leave  the  schoolhouse. 
As  she  strolled  along  slowly,  deep  in  thought  over  the 
events  of  the  day,  she  was  arrested  by  the  magnificence 
of  the  sunset.  She  stopped  and  stood  looking  into  the 
crystal  clearness  of  the  sky,  so  deep,  so  illimitable. 
Across  the  heavens,  which  were  suddenly  aflame  with 
crimson  and  gold,  floated  delicate,  fleecy  clouds.  Soon, 
all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow  were  caught  and  softened 
by  these  swift-winged  messengers  of  the  sky.  Away 
on  the  mountains,  the  snow  glowed  as  if  on  fire.  Slowly 
the  colors  faded.  Still  she  stood,  with  face  uplifted. 
Then  she  turned,  her  face  shining,  as  though  she  had 
stood  in  the  very  presence  of  God. 

Suddenly,  in  her  path,  stepped  the  little  Indian,  his 
arms  full  of  goldenrod.  He  waited  for  her,  saying  as 
he  offered  the  flowers: 


THE  DAWN  OF  A  NEW  DAY  27 

"Flowers,  me  teacher." 

She  stooped,  drew  him  to  her,  and  kissed 'his  dirty 
face,  saying  as  she  did  so, 

"Flowers?     How  lovely!" 

He  clasped  her  hand,  and  they  walked  on  together. 

The  life  story  of  the  little  Indian  had  deeply  touched 
her.  It  was  now  three  years  since  he  had  been  found, 
a  baby  of  three,  up  in  Line  Canyon.  That  was  just 
after  one  of  the  Apache  raids.  It  was  believed  that  he 
was  the  child  of  Geronimo.  When  the  babe  was  discov- 
ered by  the  white  men  who  pursued  the  Indians,  he  was 
blinking  in  the  sun.  A  cowboy,  one  Jack  Harding,  had 
insisted  upon  taking  the  child  back  to  the  camp  with 
them.  Then  the  boy  had  found  a  sort  of  home  in 
Keith's  saloon,  where  he  had  since  lived.  There  he  had 
been  teased  and  petted,  and  cuffed  and  beaten,  and  cursed 
by  turns,  and  being  a  child  of  unusually  bright  mind, 
and  the  constant  companion  of  rough  men,  he  had 
learned  every  form  of  evil  a  child  can  possibly  know. 
His  naturally  winsome  nature  had  been  changed  by 
teasing  and  abuse  until  he  seemed  to  deserve  the  so- 
briquet they  gave  him, — "little  savage."  Now  at  the 
age  of  perhaps  six  years,  he  had  been  sent  to  the  Gila 
school;  and  there  Esther  Bright  found  him.  The 
teacher  was  at  once  attracted  to  the  child. 

Many  years  after,  when  Wathemah  had  become  a  dis- 
tinguished man,  he  would  tell  how  his  life  began  when 
a  lovely  New  England  girl,  a  remarkable  teacher,  found 
him  in  that  little  school  in  Gila.  He  never  failed  to 
add  that  all  that  he  was  or  might  become,  he  owed  en- 
tirely to  her. 

The  Indian  child's  devotion  to  the  teacher  began  that 
first  day  at  school,  and  was  so  marked  it  drew  upon 
him  persecution  from  the  other  children.  Never  could 


28  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

they  make  him  ashamed.  When  the  teacher  was  pres- 
ent, he  ignored  their  comments  and  glances,  and  carried 
himself  as  proudly  as  a  prince  of  the  realm;  but  when 
she  was  absent,  many  a  boy,  often  a  boy  larger  than 
himself,  staggered  under  his  furious  attacks.  The  child 
had  splendid  physical  courage.  Take  him  for  all  in 
all,  he  was  no  easy  problem  to  solve.  The  teacher 
studied  him,  listened  to  him,  reasoned  with  him,  loved 
him;  and  from  the  first,  he  seemed  to  know  intuitively 
that  she  was  to  be  trusted  and  obeyed. 

On  this  day,  he  was  especially  happy  as  he  trudged 
along,  his  hand  in  that  of  his  Beloved. 

"Did  you  see  how  beautiful  the  sunset  is,  Wathe- 
mah?" asked  the  teacher,  looking  down  at  the  pictur- 
esque urchin  by  her  side.  He  gave  a  little  grunt,  and 
looked  into  the  sky. 

"Flowers  in  sky,"  he  said,  his  face  full  of  delight. 
"God  canyon  put  flowers,  he  Wathemah  love?" 

"Yes,  dear.  God  put  flowers  in  the  canyon  because 
he  loves  you." 

They  stopped,  and  both  looked  up  into  the  sky. 
Then,  after  a  moment,  she  continued: 

"You  are  like  the  flowers  of  the  canyon,  Wathemah. 
God  put  you  here  for  me  to  find  and  love. ' ' 

"Love  Wathemah?" 

"Yes." 

Then  she  stooped  and  gathered  him  into  her  arms. 
He  nestled  to  her. 

"You  be  Wathemah 's  mother?"  he  questioned. 

She  put  her  cheek  against  the  little  dirty  one.  The 
child  felt  tears.  As  he  patted  her  cheek  with  his  dirty 
hand,  he  repeated  anxiously: 

"Me  teacher  be  Wathemah  mother?" 

"Yes,"   she   answered,   as   though   making  a   sacred 


THE  DAWN  OF  A  NEW  DAY  29 

covenant,  "I,  Wathemah 's  teacher,  promise  to  be 
Wathemah 's  mother,  so  help  me  God/' 

The  child  was  coming  into  his  birthright,  the  birth- 
right of  every  child  born  into  the  world, — a  mother's 
love.  Who  shall  measure  its  power  in  the  development 
of  a  child's  life? 

They  had  reached  the  Clayton  home.  Wathemah 
turned  reluctantly,  lingering  and  drawing  figures  in 
the  road  with  his  bare  feet,  a  picture  one  would  long 
remember. 

He  was  a  slender  child,  full  of  sinuous  grace.  His 
large,  lustrous  dark  eyes,  as  well  as  his  features,  showed 
a  strain  of  Spanish  blood.  He  was  dressed  in  cowboy 
fashion,  but  with  more  color  than  one  sees  in  the  cow- 
boy costume.  His  trousers  were  of  brown  corduroy, 
slightly  ragged.  He  wore  a  blue  and  white  striped 
blouse,  almost  ne.w.  Around  his  neck,  tied  jauntily  in 
front,  was  a  red  silk  handkerchief,  a  gift  from  a  cow- 
boy. He  smoothed  it  caressingly,  as  though  he  delighted 
in  it.  His  straight,  glossy  black  hair,  except  where 
cut  short  over  the  forehead,  fell  to  his  shoulders. 
Large  loop-like  ear-rings  dangled  from  his  ears;  but 
the  crowning  feature  of  his  costume,  and  his  especial 
pride,  was  a  new  sombrero  hat,  trimmed  with  a  scarlet 
ribbon  and  a  white  quill.  He  suddenly  looked  at  his 
teacher,  his  face  lighting  with  a  radiant  smile,  and  said : 

11  Mother,  me  mother." 

"  Tell  me,  Wathemah,"  she  said,  "what  you  learned 
to-day  in  the  Bible  school." 

He  turned  and  said  softly: 

"Jesus  love." 

Then  the  little  child  of  the  Open  walked  back  to  the 
camp,  repeating  softly  to  himself: 

* '  Jesus  love !    Mother  love ! " 


CHAPTER  III 

CLAYTON   RANCH 

EAELY  traders  knew  Clayton  Ranch  well,  for 
it  was  on  the  old  stage  route  from  Santa  Fe 
to  the  Pacific  coast. 
The   house  faced  south,   overlooking  Gila 
River,  and  commanded  a  magnificent  view 
of  mountains  and  foothills  and  valleys.     To  the  north- 
east,  rose   a   distant   mountain   peak   always   streaked 
with  snow. 

The  ranch  house,  built  of  blocks  of  adobe,  was  of 
a  creamy  cement  color  resembling  the  soil  of  the  sur- 
rounding foothills.  The  building  was  long  and  low, 
in  the  Spanish  style  of  a  rectangle,  opening  on  a  cen- 
tral court  at  the  rear.  The  red  tile  roof  slanted 
in  a  shallow  curve  from  the  peak  of  the  house, 
out  over  the  veranda,  which  extended  across  the  front. 
Around  the  pillars  that  supported  the  roof  of  the  ve- 
randa, vines  grew  luxuriantly,  and  hung  in  profusion 
from  the  strong  wire  stretched  high  from  pillar  to  pillar. 
The  windows  and  doors  were  spacious,  giving  the  place 
an  atmosphere  of  generous  hospitality.  Northeast  of 
the  house,  was  a  picturesque  windmill,  which  explained 
the  abundant  water  supply  for  the  ranch,  and  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  vines  along  the  irrigating  ditch  that  bor- 
dered the  veranda.  The  dooryard  was  separated  from 
the  highway  by  a  low  adobe  wall  the  color  of  the  house. 
In  the  yard,  palms  and  cacti  gave  a  semi-tropical  set- 
ting to  this  attractive  old  building.  Port-holes  on  two 

30 


CLAYTON  RANCH  31 

sides  of  the  house  bore  evidence  of  its  having  been  built 
as  a  place  of  defense.  Here,  women  and  children  had 
fled  for  safety  when  the  Apache  raids  filled  everyone 
with  terror.  Here  they  had  remained  for  days,  with 
few  to  protect  them,  while  the  men  of  the  region  drove 
off  the  Indians. 

Senor  Mateo,  the  builder  and  first  owner  of  the  house, 
had  been  slain  by  the  Apaches.  On  the  foothills,  just 
north  of  the  house,  ten  lonely  graves  bore  silent  witness 
to  that  fatal  day. 

Up  the  road  to  Clayton  Ranch,  late  one  November 
afternoon,  came  Esther  Bright  with  bounding  step,  ac- 
companied, as  usual,  by  a  bevy  of  children.  She  heard 
one  gallant  observe  to  another  that  their  teacher  was 
"just  a  daisy." 

Although  this  and  similar  compliments  were  inter- 
spersed with  miners'  and  cowboys'  slang,  they  were 
none  the  less  respectful  and  hearty,  and  served  to  ex- 
press the  high  esteem  in  which  the  new  teacher  was 
held  by  the  little  citizens  of  Gila. 

As  the  company. neared  the  door  of  the  Clayton  home, 
one  little  girl  suddenly  burst  forth: 

"My  maw  says  she  won't  let  her  childern  go  ter  Bible 
school  ter  be  learned  'ligion  by  a  Gentile.  Me  an'  Mike 
an'  Pat  an'  Brigham  wanted  ter  go,  but  maw  said,  maw 
did,  that  she'd  learn  us  Brigham  Young's  ligion,  an' 
no  sech  trash  as  them  Gentiles  tells  about;  'n'  that  the 
womern  as  doesn't  have  childern '11  never  go  ter  Heaven, 
maw  says.  My  maw's  got  ten  childern.  My  maw's 
Mormon. ' ' 

Here  little  Katie  Black  paused  for  breath.  She  was 
a  stocky,  pug-nosed,  freckle-faced  little  creature,  with 
red  hair,  braided  in  four  short  pugnacious  pigtails, 
tied  with  white  rags. 


32  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"So  your  mother  is  a  Mormon?"  said  the  teacher 
to  Katie. 

"Yep." 

"Suppose  I  come  to  see  your  mother,  Katie,  and  tell 
her  all  about  it.  She  might  let  you  come.  Shall  I?" 

Her  question  was  overheard  by  one  of  Katie's 
brothers,  who  said  heartily : 

"Sure!  I'll  come  fur  yer.  Maw  said  yer  was  too 
stuck  up  ter  come,  but  I  said  I  knowed  better." 

"Naw,"  said  Brigham,  "she  ain't  stuck  up;  be  yer?" 

"Not  a  bit."  The  teacher's  answer  seemed  to  give 
entire  satisfaction  to  the  company. 

The  children  gathered  about  her  as  they  reached  the 
door  of  Clayton  Ranch.  Esther  Bright  placed  her 
hand  on  Brigham 's  head.  It  was  a  loving  touch,  and 
her  "Good  night,  laddie,"  sent  the  child  on  his  way 
happy. 

Within  the  house,  all  was  cheer  and  welcome.  The 
great  living  room  was  ablaze  with  light.  A  large  open 
fireplace  occupied  the  greater  part  of  the  space  on  one 
side.  There,  a  fire  of  dry  mesquite  wood  snapped  and 
crackled,  furnishing  both  light  and  heat  this  chill  No- 
vember evening. 

The  floor  of  the  living  room  was  covered  with  an 
English  three-ply  carpet.  The  oak  chairs  were  both 
substantial  and  comfortable.  On  the  walls,  hung  three 
oil  paintings  of  English  scenes.  Here  and  there  were 
bookcases,  filled  with  standard  works.  On  a  round  table 
near  the  fireplace,  were  strewn  magazines  and  papers.  A 
comfortable  low  couch,  piled  with  sofa  pillows,  occupied 
one  side  of  the  room  near  the  firelight.  Here,  resting 
from  a  long*  and  fatiguing  journey,  was  stretched  John 
Clayton,  the  owner  of  the  houso. 

As   Esther   Bright  entered   the  room,  he  rose   and 


CLAYTON  RANCH  33 

greeted  her  cordially.  His  manner  indicated  the  well- 
bred  man  of  the  world.  He  was  tall  and  muscular,  his 
face,  bronzed  from  the  Arizona  sun.  There  was  some- 
thing very  genial  about  the  man  that  made  him  a  de- 
lightful host. 

"Late  home,  Miss  Bright!"  he  said  in  playful  re- 
proof. ' '  This  is  a  rough  country,  you  know. ' ' 

' '  So  I  hear,  mine  host, ' '  she  said,  bowing  low  in  mock 
gravity,  "and  that  is  why  we  have  been  scared  to  death 
at  your  long  absence.  I  feared  the  Indians  had  carried 
you  off/' 

"I  was  detained  unwillingly,"  he  responded.  "But, 
really,  Miss  Bright,  I  am  not  joking.  It  is  perilous  for 
you  to  tramp  these  mountain  roads  as  you  do,  and  es- 
pecially near  nightfall.  You  are  tempting  Providence. ' ' 
He  nodded  his  head  warningly. 

i  i  But  I  am  not  afraid, ' '  she  persisted. 

"I  know  that.  More's  the  pity.  But  you  ought  to 
be.  Some  day  you  may  be  captured  and  carried  off, 
and  no  one  in  camp  to  rescue  you." 

"How  romantic!"  she  answered,  a  smile  lurking  in 
her  eyes  and  about  her  mouth. 

She  seated  herself  on  a  stool  near  the  fire. 

"Why  didn't  you  ask  me  why  I  was  so  late?  I  have 
an  excellent  excuse." 

"Why,  prisoner  at  the  bar?" 

"Please,  y'r  honor,  we've  been  making  ready  for 
Christmas."  She  assumed  the  air  of  a  culprit,  and 
looked  so  demurely  funny  he  laughed  outright. 

Here  Mrs.  Clayton  and  Edith,  her  fifteen-year-old 
daughter,  entered  the  room. 

"What's  the  fun?"  questioned  Edith. 

"Miss  Bright  is  pleading  guilty  to  working  more 
hours  than  she  should." 


34  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"Oh,  no,  I  didn't,  Edith, "  she  said  merrily.  "I 
said  we  had  been  making  ready  for  Christmas."  - 

Edith  sat  on  a  stool  at  her  teacher's  side.  She,  too, 
was  ready  for  a  tilt. 

"You're  not  to  pronounce  sentence,  Mr.  Judge,  until 
you  see  what  we  have  been  doing.  It's  to  be  a  great 
surprise."  And  Edith  looked  wise  and  mysterious. 

Then  Esther  withdrew,  returning  a  little  later, 
gowned  in  an  old-rose  house  dress  of  some  soft  wool 
stuff.  She  again  sat  near  the  fire. 

"Papa,"  said  Edith,  "I  have  been  telling  Miss 
Bright  about  the  annual  Rocky  Mountain  ball,  and  that 
she  must  surely  go." 

John  Clayton  looked  amused. 

"I'm  afraid  Edith  couldn't  do  justice  to  that  social 
function.  I  am  quite  sure  you  never  saw  anything  like 
it.  It  is  the  most  primitive  sort  of  a  party,  made  up  of 
a  motley  crowd, — cowboys,  cowlassies,  miners  and  their 
families,  and  ranchmen  and  theirs.  They  come  early, 
have  a  hearty  supper,  and  dance  all  night ;  and  as  many 
of  them  imbibe  pretty  freely,  they  sometimes  come  to 
blows." 

He  seemed  amused  at  the  consternation  in  Esther's 
face. 

"You  don't  mean  that  I  shall  be  expected  to  go  to 
such  a  party?"  she  protested. 

"Why  not?"  he  asked,  smiling. 

"It  seems  dreadful,"  she  hastened  to  say,  "and  be- 
sides that,  I  never  go  to  dances.  I  do  not  dance." 

"It's  not  as  bad  as  it  sounds,"  explained  John  Clay- 
ton. "You  see  these  people  are  human.  Their  soli- 
tary lives  are  barren  of  pleasure.  They  crave  inter- 
course with  their  kind;  and  so  this  annual  party  offers 
this  opportunity." 


CLAYTON  RANCH  35 

"And  is  this  the  extent  of  their  social  life?  Have 
they  nothing  better?" 

"Nothing  better,"  he  said  seriously,  "but  some 
things  much  worse." 

' '  I  don 't  see  how  anything  could  be  worse. ' ' 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  "it  could  be  worse.  But  to  re- 
turn to  the  ball.  It  is  unquestionably  a  company  of 
publicans  and  sinners.  If  you  wish  to  do  settlement 
work  here,  to  study  these  people  in  their  native  haunts, 
here  they  are.  You  will  have  an  opportunity  to  meet 
some  poor  creatures  you  would  not  otherwise  meet. 
Besides,  this  party  is  given  for  the  benefit  of  the  school. 
The  proceeds  of  the  supper  help  support  the  school." 

"Then  I  must  attend?" 

"I  believe  so.  With  your  desire  to  help  these 
people,  I  believe  it  wise  for  you  to  go  with  us  to  the 
ball.  You  remember  how  a  great  Teacher  long  ago 
ate  with  publicans  and  sinners." 

"Yes,  I  was  just  thinking  of  it.  Christ  studied  peo- 
ple as  he  found  them;  helped  them  where  he  found 
them."  She  sat  with  bent  head,  thoughtful. 

"Yes,"  John  Clayton  spoke  gently,  "Christ  studied 
them  as  he  found  them,  helped  them  where  he  found 
them." 

He  sometimes  smiled  at  her  girlish  eagerness,  while 
more  and  more  he  marveled  at  her  wisdom  and  ability. 
She  had  set  him  to  thinking;  and  as  he  thought,  he 
saw  new  duties  shaping  before  him. 

It  may  have  been  an  hour  later,  as  they  were  read- 
ing aloud  from  a  new  book,  they  heard  a  firm,  quick 
step  on  the  veranda,  followed  by  a  light  knock. 

"It's  Kenneth,"  exclaimed  John  Clayton  in  a  brisk, 
cheery  tone,  as  he  hastened  to  open  the  door.  The 
newcomer  was  evidently  a  valued  friend.  Esther 


36  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

recognized  in  the  distinguished  looking  visitor  one  of 
the  men  who  had  protected  her  the  day  of  the  organi- 
zation of  the  Bible  school. 

John  Clayton  rallied  him  on  his  prolonged  absence. 
Mrs.  Clayton  told  him  how  they  had  missed  him,  and 
Edith  chattered  merrily  of  what  had  happened  since 
his  last  visit. 

When  he  was  presented  to  Esther  Bright,  she  rose,  and 
at  that  moment,  a  flame  leaped  from  the  burning  mes- 
quite,  and  lighted  up  her  face  and  form.  She  was  lovely. 
The  heat  of  the  fire  had  brought  a  slight  color  to  her 
cheeks,  and  this  was  accentuated  by  her  rose-colored 
gown.  Kenneth  Hastings  bowed  low,  lower  than  his 
wont  to  women.  For  a  moment  his  eyes  met  hers.  His 
glance  was*  keen  and  searching.  She  met  it  calmly, 
frankly.  Then  her  lashes  swept  her  cheeks,  and  her 
color  deepened. 

They  gathered  about  the  hearth.  Fresh  sticks  of 
grease  woods,  and  pine  cones,  thrown  on  the  fire,  sent 
red  and  yellow  and  violet  flames  leaping  up  the  chimney. 
The  fire  grew  hotter,  and  they  were  obliged  to  widen 
their  circle. 

What  better  than  an  open  fire  to  unlock  the  treasures 
of  the  mind  and  heart,  when  friend  converses  with 
friend?  The  glow  of  the  embers  seems  to  kindle  the 
imagination,  until  the  tongue  forgets  the  common- 
places of  daily  life  and  grows  eloquent  with  the 
thoughts  that  lie  hidden  in  the  deeps  of  the  soul. 

Such  converse  as  this  held  this  group  of  friends  in 
thrall.  Kenneth  Hastings  talked  well,  exceedingly 
well.  All  the  best  stops  in  his  nature  were  out. 
Esther  listened,  at  first  taking  little  part  in  the  conver- 
sation. She  was  a  good  listener,  an  appreciative  lis- 
tener, and  therein  lay  some  of  her  charm.  When  he 


CLAYTON  RANCH  37 

addressed  a  remark  to  her,  she  noticed  that  he  had  fine 
eyes,  wonderful  eyes,  such  eyes  as  belonged  to  Lincoln 
and  Webster. 

One  would  have  guessed  Kenneth  Hastings'  age  to 
be  about  thirty.  He  was  tall,  rather  slender  and 
sinewy,  with  broad,  strong  shoulders.  He  had  a  fine 
head,  proudly  poised,  and  an  intelligent,  though  stern 
face.  He  was  not  a  handsome  man;  there  was,  how- 
ever, an  air  of  distinction  about  him,  and  he  had  a 
voice  of  rare  quality,  rich  and  musical.  Esther  Bright 
had  noticed  this. 

The  visitor  began  to  talk  to  her.  His  power  to  draw 
other  people  out  and  make  them  shine  was  a  fine  art 
with  him.  His  words  were  like  a  spark  to  tinder. 
Esther's  mind  kindled.  She  grew  brilliant,  and  said 
things  with  a  freshness  and  sparkle  that  fascinated 
everyone.  And  Kenneth  Hastings  listened  with  deep- 
ening interest. 

His  call  had  been  prolonged  beyond  his  usual  hour 
for  leave-taking,  when  John  Clayton  brought  Esther's 
guitar,  that  happened  to  be  in  the  room,  and  begged 
her  for  a  song.  She  blushed  and  hesitated. 

"Do  sing,"  urged  the  guest. 

"I  am  not  a  trained  musician,"  she  protested. 

But  her  host  assured  his  friend  that  she  surely  could 
sing.  Then  all  clamored  for  a  song. 

Esther  sat  thrumming  the  strings. 

"What  shall  I  sing?" 

"  'Who  is  Sylvia,'  "  suggested  Mrs.  Clayton. 

This  she  sang  in  a  full,  sweet  voice.  Her  tone  was 
true. 

"More,  more,"  they  insisted,  clapping  their  hands. 

"Just  one  more  song,"  pleaded  Edith. 

"Do  you  sing,  'Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes'?" 


38  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

asked  Kenneth.  For  answer,  she  struck  the  chords, 
and  sang ;  then  she  laid  down  the  guitar. 

"  Please  sing  one  of  your  American  ballads.  Sing 
'Home,  Sweet  Home/  "  he  suggested. 

She  had  been  homesick  all  day,  so  there  was  a  home- 
sigh  in  her  voice  as  she  sang.  Kenneth  moved  his  chair 
into  the  shadow,  and  watched  her. 

At  last  he  rose  to  go;  and  with  promises  of  an  early 
return,  he  withdrew. 

Not  to  the  saloon  did  he  go  that  night,  as  had  been 
his  custom  since  coming  to  the  mining  camp.  He 
walked  on  and  on,  out  into  the  vast  aloneness  of  the 
mountains.  Once  in  a  while  he  stopped,  and  looked 
down  towards  Clayton  Ranch.  At  intervals  he 
whistled  softly. — The  strain  was  "Home,  Sweet 
Home." 

John  Clayton  and  his  wife  sat  long  before  the  fire 
after  Esther  and  Edith  had  retired.  Mary  Clayton 
was  a  gentle  being,  with  a  fair,  sweet  English  face. 
And  she  adored  her  husband.  They  had  been  talking 
earnestly. 

"Any  way,  Mary,"  John  Clayton  was  saying,  "I  be- 
lieve Miss  Bright  could  make  an  unusually  fine  man  of 
Kenneth.  I  believe  she  could  make  him  a  better  man, 
too." 

"That  might  be,  John,"  she  responded,  "but  you 
wouldn't  want  so  rare  a  soul  as  she  is  to  marry  him  to 
reform  him,  would  you?  She's  like  a  snow-drop." 

"No,  like  a  rose,"  he  suggested,  "all  sweet  at  the 
heart.  I'd  really  like  to  see  her  marry  Kenneth. 
In  fact,  I'd  like  to  help  along  a  little." 

"Oh,  my  dear!  How  could  you?"  And  she  looked 
at  him  reproachfully. 

"Why  not?"  he  asked.     "Tell   me   honestly."    He 


CLAYTON  KANCH  39 

lifted  her  face  and  looked  into  it  with  lover-like  ten- 
derness. "You  like  Kenneth,  don't  you?  And  we  are 
always  glad  to  welcome  him  in  our  home/' 

"Y-e-s,"  she  responded  hesitatingly,  "but — " 

"But  what?" 

"I  fear  he  frequents  the  saloons,  and  is  sometimes  in 
company  totally  unworthy  of  him.  In  fact,  I  fear  he 
isn't  good  enough  for  Miss  Bright.  I  can't  bear  to 
think  of  her  marrying  any  man  less  pure  and  noble 
than  she  is  herself." 

He  took  his  wife's  hand  in  both  of  his. 

"You  forget,  Mary,"  he  said,  "that  Miss  Bright  is 
a  very  unusual  woman.  There  are  few  men,  possibly, 
who  are  her  peers.  Don't  condemn  Kenneth  because 
he  isn't  exactly  like  her.  He's  not  perfect,  I  admit, 
any  more  than  the  rest  of  us.  But  he's  a  fine,  manly 
fellow,  with  a  good  mind  and  noble  traits  of  character. 
If  the  right  woman  gets  hold  of  him,  she'll  make  him  a 
good  man,  and  possibly  a  great  one. ' ' 

"That  may  be,"  she  said,  "but  I  don't  want  Miss 
Bright  to  be  that  woman." 

"Suppose  he  were  your  son,  would  you  feel  he  was 
so  unworthy  of  her?" 

"Probably  not,"  came  her  hesitating  answer. 

"Mary,  dear,"  he  said,  "I  fear  you  are  too  severe 
in  your  judgment  of  men.  I  wish  you  had  more  com- 
passion. You  see,  it  is  this  way:  many  who  seem  evil 
have  gone  astray  because  they  have  not  had  the  influence 
of  a  good  mother  or  sister  or  wife."  He  bent  his  head 
and  kissed  her. 

A  moment  later,  he  leaned  back  and  burst  into  a 
hearty  laugh. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  she  asked.  "I  don't 
think  it's  a  laughing  matter." 


40  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 


<  < 


It's  so  ridiculous,  Mary,  Here  we've  been  con- 
cerning ourselves  about  the  possible  marriage  of  Kenneth 
and  Miss  Bright,  when  they  have  only  just  met,  and 
it  isn't  likely  they'll  ever  care  for  each  other,  anyway. 
Let's  leave  them  alone." 

And  the  curtain  went  down  on  a  vital  introductory 
scene  in  the  drama  of  life. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  GILA 

DAYS  came  and  went.     The  Bible  school  of 
Gila  had  ceased  to  be  an  experiment.     It 
was  a  fact  patent  to  all   that  the   adobe 
schoolhouse  had  become  the  social  center  of 
the  community,  and  that  the  soul  of  that 
center  was  Esther  Bright.     She  had  studied  sociology  in 
college  and  abroad.     She  had  theorized,   as  many  do, 
about  life;  now,  life  itself,  in  its  bald  reality,  was  ap- 
pealing to  her  heart  and  brain.     She  did  not  stop  to 
analyze  her  fitness  for  the  work.     She  indulged  in  no 
morbid  introspection.     It  was  enough  for  her  that  she 
had  found  great  human  need.     She  was  now  to  cope, 
almost  single  handed,  with  the  forces  that  drag  men 
down.     She  saw  the  need,  she  realized  the  opportunity. 
She  worked  with   the   quiet,    unfailing   patience   of   a 
great  soul,  leaving  the  fruitage  to  God. 

Sometimes  the  seriousness  in  Esther's  face  would 
deepen.  Then  she  would  go  out  into  the  Open.  On 
one  of  these  occasions,  she  strayed  to  her  favorite  haunt 
in  the  timber  along  the  river,  and  seated  herself  on  the 
trunk  of  a  dead  cottonwood  tree,  lying  near  the  river 
bank.  Trees,  covered  with  green  mistletoe,  towered 
above  her.  Tremulous  aspens  sparkled  in  the  sunshine. 
The  air  was  crystal  clear;  the  vast  dome  of  the  sky, 
of  the  deepest  blue.  She  sat  for  a  long  time  with  face 
lifted,  apparently  forgetful  of  the  open  letter  in  her 
hand.  At  last  she  turned  to  it,  and  read  as  follows: 

41 


42  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

LYNN,  MASS.,  Tenth  Month,  Fifth  Day,  1888. 
MY  BELOVED  GRANDDAUGHTER  : 

Thy  letter  reached  me  Second  Day.  Truly  thou  hast  found  a 
field  that  needs  a  worker,  and  I  do  not  question  that  the  Lord's 
hand  led  thee  to  Gila.  What  thou  art  doing  and  dost  plan  to 
do,  interest  me  deeply;  but  it  will  tax  thy  strength.  I  am 
thankful  that  thou  hast  felt  a  deepening  sense  of  God's  nearness. 
His  world  is  full  of  Him,  only  men's  eyes  are  holden  that  they 
do  not  know.  All  who  gain  strength  to  lead  and  inspire  their 
fellows,  learn  this  surely  at  last: — that  the  soul  of  man  finds 
God  most  surely  in  the  Open.  If  men  would  help  their  fellows, 
they  must  seek  inspiration  and  strength  in  communion  with  God. 

To  keep  well,  one  must  keep  his  mind  calm  and  cheerful.  So 
I  urge  thee  not  to  allow  the  sorrowfulness  of  life  about  thee  to 
depress  thee.  Thou  canst  not  do  thy  most  effective  work  if  thy 
heart  is  always  bowed  down.  The  great  sympathy  of  thy  nature 
will  lead  thee  to  sorrow  for  others  more  than  is  well  for  thee. 
Joy  is  necessary  to  all  of  us.  So,  Beloved,  cultivate  joyousness, 
and  teach  others  to  do  so.  It  keeps  us  sane,  and  strong  and 
helpful. 

I  know  that  the  conditions  thou  hast  found  shock  and  distress 
thee,  as  they  do  all  godly  men  and  women;  but  I  beg  thee  to  re- 
member, Esther,  that  our  Lord  had  compassion  on  such  as  these, 
on  the  sinful  as  well  as  on  the  good,  and  that  He  offers  salva- 
tion to  all.  How  to  have  compassion!  Ah,  my  child,  men  are 
so  slow  in  learning  that.  Love, — compassion,  is  the  key  of 
Christ's  philosophy. 

I  am  often  lonely  without  thee;  but  do  not  think  I  would  call 
thee  back  while  the  Lord  hath  need  of  thee. 

Thy  Uncle  and  Aunt  are  well,  and  send  their  love  to  thee. 

I  have  just  been  reading  John  Whittier's  'Our  Master.'  Read 
it  on  next  First  Day,  as  my  message  to  thee. 

God  bless  thee. 

Thy  faithful  grandfather, 

DAVID  BEIGHT. 

As  she  read,  her  eyes  filled. 

In  the  veins  of  Esther  Bright  flowed  the  blood  of 
honorable,  God-fearing  people;  but  to  none  of  these, 
had  humanity's  needs  called  more  insistently  than  to 
her.  Her  grandfather  had  early  recognized  and  fos- 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA  43 

tered  her  passion  for  service;  and  from  childhood  up, 
he  had  frequently  taken  her  with  him  on  his  errands  of 
mercy,  that  she  might  understand  the  condition  and 
the  needs  of  the  unfortunate.  Between  the  two  there 
existed  an  unusual  bond. 

After  reading  -  the  letter,  Esther  sat  absorbed  in 
thought.  The  present  had  slipped  away,  and  it  seemed 
as  though  her  spirit  had  absented  itself  from  her  body 
and  gone  on  a  far  journey.  She  was  aroused  to  a  con- 
sciousness of  the  present  by  a  quick  step.  In  a  moment 
Kenneth  Hastings  was  before  her;  then,  seated  at  her 
side. 

"Well!"  he  began.  "How  fortunate  I  am!  Here 
I  was  on  my  way  to  call  on  you  to  give  you  these 
flowers.  I  Ve  been  up  on  the  mountains  for  them. ' ' 

"What  beautiful  mountain  asters!"  was  her  re- 
sponse, her  face  lighting  with  pleasure.  "How  ex- 
quisite in  color!  And  how  kind  of  you!" 

"Yes,  they're  lovely."  He  looked  into  her  face  with 
undisguised  admiration.  Something  within  her  shrank 
from  it. 

Three  weeks  had  now  passed  since  the  meeting  of 
Kenneth  Hastings  and  Esther  Bright.  During  this 
time,  he  had  become  an  almost  daily  caller  at  Clayton 
Ranch.  When  he  made  apologies  for  the  frequency 
of  his  calls,  the  Claytons  always  assured  him  of  the 
pleasure  his  presence  gave  them,  saying  he  was  to  them 
a  younger  brother,  and  as  welcome. 

It  was  evident  to  them  that  Kenneth's  transforma- 
tion had  begun.  John  Clayton  knew  that  important 
changes  were  taking  place  in  his  daily  life;  that  all 
his  social  life  was  spent  in  their  home;  that  he  had 
ceased  to  enter  a  saloon;  and  that  he  had  suddenly  be- 
come fastidious  about  his  toilet. 


44  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

If  Esther  noted  any  changes  in  him,  she  did  not  ex- 
press it.  She  was  singularly  reticent  in  regard  to  him. 

At  this  moment,  she  sat  listening  to  him  as  he  told 
her  of  the  mountain  flora. 

"Wait  till  you  see  the  cactus  blossoms  in  the  spring 
and  summer."  He  seemed  very  enthusiastic.  "They 
make  a  glorious  mass  of  color  against  the  soft  gray  of  the 
dry  grass,  or  soil." 

"I'd  love  to  see  them."  She  lifted  the  bunch  of 
asters  admiringly. 

"I  have  some  water  colors  of  cacti  I  made  a  year 
ago.  I'd  like  to  show  them  to  you,  Miss  Bright,  if  you 
are  interested." 

She  assured  him  she  was. 

"I  was  out  in  the  region  of  Colorado  River  a  year 
ago.  It  is  a  wonderful  region  no  white  man  has  yet 
explored.  Only  the  Indians  know  of  its  greatness.  I 
have  an  idea  that  when  that  region  is  explored  by  some 
scientist,  he  will  discover  that  canyon  to  be  the  greatest 
marvel  of  the  world.  What  I  saw  was  on  a  stupen- 
dous, magnificent  scale." 

c '  How  it  must  have  impressed  you ! ' ' 

"Wonderfully!  I'll  show  you  a  sketch  I  made  of  a 
bit  of  what  I  found.  It  may  suggest  the  magnificence 
of  the  coloring  to  you." 

"How  did  you  happen  to  have  sketching  materials 
with  you?" 

"I  agreed  to  write  a  series  of  articles  for  an  English 
magazine,  and  wished  illustrations  for  one  of  the  arti- 
cles." 

"How  accomplished  you  are!"  she  exclaimed.  "A 
mining  engineer,  a  painter,  an  author — " 

"Don't!"  he  protested,  raising  a  deprecatory  hand. 

Having  launched  on  the  natural  wonders  of  Arizona, 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA  45 

he  grew  more  and  more  eloquent,  till  Esther's  imag- 
ination made  a  daring  leap,  and  she  looked  down  the 
gigantic  gorge  he  pictured  to  her,  over  great  acres  of 
massive  rock  formation,  like  the  splendor  of  successive 
day-dawns  hardened  into  stone,  and  saw  gigantic  forms 
chiseled  by  ages  of  erosion. 

"Do  you  ride  horseback,  Miss  Bright ?"  he  asked, 
suddenly  changing  the  conversation. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  do  not.  I  do  not  even 
know  how  to  mount." 

"Let  me  teach  you  to  ride,"  he  said,  with  sudden 
interest. 

"You  would  find  me  an  awkward  pupil,"  she  re- 
sponded, rising. 

"I  am  willing  to  wager  that  I  should  not.  When 
may  I  have  the  pleasure  of  giving  you  the  first  lesson  ? ' ' 

"Any  time  convenient  for  you  when  I  am  not  teach- 
ing." She  began  to  gather  up  her  flowers  and  hat. 

Then  and  there,  a  day  was  set  for  the  first  lesson  in 
horsemanship. 

"Sit  down,  please,"  said  Kenneth.  "I  want  you 
to  enlighten  me.  I  am  painfully  dense." 

She  seated  herself  on  the  tree  trunk  again,  saying  as 
she  did  so: 

"I  had  not  observed  any  conspicuous  signs  of  density 
on  your  part,  Mr.  Hastings,  save  that  you  think  I 
could  be  metamorphosed  into  a  horsewoman.  Some 
women  are  born  to  the  saddle.  I  was  not.  I  am  not  an 
Englishwoman,  you  see." 

"But  decidedly  English,"  he  retorted.  "I  wish  you 
would  tell  me  your  story." 

Her  face  flushed. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  hastened  to  say.  "I  did 
not  mean  to  be  rude.  You  interest  me  deeply.  Any- 


46  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

thing  you  think  or  do,  anything  that  has  made  you  what 
you  are,  is  of  deep  interest  to  me." 

1  'There  is  nothing  to  tell,"  she  said  simply.  "Just 
a  few  pages,  with  here  and  there  an  entry;  a  few  birth- 
days; graduation  from  college;  foreign  travel;  work  in 
Gila;  a  life  spent  in  companionship  with  a  wonderfully 
lovely  and  lovable  grandfather;  work  at  his  side,  and 
life 's  history  in  the  making.  That  is  all. ' ' 

"All?"  he  repeated.  "But  that  is  rich  in  suggestion. 
I  have  studied  you  almost  exclusively  for  three  weeks, 
and  I  know  you." 

She  looked  up.  The  expression  in  his  eyes  nettled 
her.  Her  spinal  column  stiffened. 

"Indeed!  Know  a  woman  in  three  weeks!  You  do 
well,  better  than  most  of  your  sex.  Most  men,  I  am 
told,  find  woman  an  unsolvable  problem,  and  when  they 
think  they  know  her,  they  find  they  don 't. ' ' 

This  was  interesting  to  him.  He  liked  the  flash  in  her 
eye. 

"Some  life  purpose  brings  you  to  Gila,  to  work  so 
unselfishly  for  a  lot  of  common,  ignorant  people." 

"What  is  that  to  you?" 

Her  question  sounded  harsh  in  her  own  ears,  and 
then  she  begged  his  pardon. 

"No  apology  is  necessary  on  your  part,"  he  said, 
changing  from  banter  to  a  tone  of  seriousness.  "My 
words  roused  your  resentment.  I  am  at 'fault.  The 
coming  of  a  delicately  nurtured  girl  like  you  into  such 
a  place  of  degradation  is  like  the  coming  of  an  angel  of 
light  down  to  the  bottomless  pit.  I  beg  forgiveness  for 
saying  this;  but,  Miss  Bright,  a  mining  camp,  in  these 
days,  is  a  hotbed  of  vice." 

"All  the  more  reason  why  people  of  intelligence  and 
character  should  try  to  make  the  life  here  clean.  I  be- 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  GILA  47 

lieve  we  can  crowd  out  evil  by  cultivating  the  good." 

"You  are  a  decided  optimist,"  he  said;  "and  I,  by 
force  of  circumstances,  have  become  a  confirmed  pessi- 
mist. ' ' 

"You  will  not  continue  to  be  a  pessimist,"  she  said, 
prophetically,  seeing  in  her  mind's  eye  what  he  would 
be  in  the  years  to  come.  "You  will  come  to  know  deep 
human  sympathy;  you  will  believe  in  the  possibility 
of  better  and  better  things  for  your  fellows.  You  will 
use  your  strength,  your  intellect,  your  fine  education, 
for  the  best  service  of  the  world  about  you." 

Somehow  that  prophecy  went  home  to  him. 

' '  By  George ! "  he  exclaimed,  ' '  you  make  a  fellow  feel 
he  must  be  just  what  you  want  him  to  be,  and  what  he 
ought  to  be." 

The  man  studied  the  woman  before  him,  with  deep 
and  increasing  interest.  She  possessed  a  strength,  he 
was  sure,  of  which  no  one  in  Gila  had  yet  dreamed.  He 
continued : 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me  the  humanitarian 
notions  that  made  you  willing  to  bury  yourself  in  this 
godless  place?" 

She  hesitated.  The  catechism  evidently  annoyed  her, 
for  it  seemed  to  savor  of  impertinent  curiosity.  But 
at  last  she  answered: 

"I  believe  my  grandfather  is  responsible  for  the  hu- 
manitarian notions.  It  is  a  long  story." 

She  hesitated. 

"I  am  interested  in  what  he  has  done,  and  what  you 
are  doing.  Please  tell  me  about  it." 

"Well,  it  goes  back  to  my  childhood.  I  was  my 
grandfather's  constant  companion  until  I  went  to  col- 
lege. He  is  a  well-known  philanthropist  of  New  Eng- 
land, interested  in  the  poor,  in  convicts  in  prison  and 


48  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

out,  in  temperance  work,  in  the  enfranchisement  of 
woman,  in  education,  and  in  everything  that  makes  for 
righteousness. ' ' 

She  paused. 

1  'And  he  discussed  great  questions  with  you?*' 

"Yes,  as  though  in  counsel.  He  would  tell  me  cer- 
tain conditions,  and  ask  me  what  I  thought  we  had 
better  do." 

"An  ideal  preparation  for  philanthropic  service." 
He  was  serious  now. 

"There  awoke  within  me,  very  early,  the  purpose  to 
serve  my  fellow-men  in  the  largest  possible  way.  Grand- 
father fostered  this;  and  when  the  time  came  for  me 
to  go  to  college,  he  helped  me  plan  my  course  of  study. ' ' 
She  looked  far  away. 

"You  followed  it  out?" 

"Very  nearly.  You  see,  Mr.  Hastings,  service  is  no 
accident  with  me.  It  dates  back  generations.  It  is 
in  my  blood." 

"Your  blood  is  of  the  finest  sort.  Surely  service  does 
not  mean  living  in  close  touch  with  immoral,  disrepu- 
table people." 

Her  eyes  kindled,  grew  dark  in  color. 

"What  does  it  mean,  then?  The  strong,  the  pure, 
the  godly  should  live  among  men,  teach  by  precept  and 
example  how  to  live,  and  show  the  loveliness  of  pure 
living  just  as  Jesus  did.  I  have  visited  prisons  with 
grandfather,  have  prayed  with  and  for  criminals,  and 
have  sung  in  the  prisons.  Is  it  not  worth  while  to  help 
these  wretched  creatures  look  away  from  themselves  to 
God?" 

"Oh,  Miss  Bright,"  he  protested,  "it  is  dreadful  for 
a  young  girl  like  you  even  to  hear  of  the  wickedness 
of  men." 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA  49 

" Women  are  wicked,  too,"  she  responded  seriously, 
"but  I  never  lose  hope  for  any  one." 

' '  Some  day  hope  will  die  out  in  your  heart, ' '  he  said 
discouragingly. 

' '  God  forbid ! ' '  she  spoke  solemnly.  In  a  moment  she 
continued :  ! 

"I  am  sure  you  do  not  realize  how  many  poor  crea- 
tures never  have  had  a  chance  to  be  decent.  Just  think 
how  many  are  born  of  sinful,  ignorant  parents,  into 
an  environment  of  sin  and  ignorance.  They  live  in  it, 
they  die  in  it.  I,  by  no  will  or  merit  of  my  own,  re- 
ceived a  blessed  heritage.  My  ancestors  for  generations 
have  been  intelligent,  godly  people,  many  of  them  people 
of  distinction.  I  was  born  into  an  atmosphere  of  love, 
of  intelligence,  of  spirituality,  and  of  refinement.  I 
have  lived  in  that  atmosphere  all  my  life.  My  good 
impulses  have  been  fostered,  my  wrong  ones  checked." 

"I'll  wager  you  were  painfully  conscientious,"  he 
said. 

"Why  should  I  have  been  given  so  much,"  she  con- 
tinued, "and  these  poor  creatures  so  little,  unless  it 
was  that  I  should  minister  to  their  needs?" 

"You  may  be  right."  He  seemed  unconvinced. 
"But  I  am  sure  of  one  thing.  If  I  had  been  your 
grandfather,  and  you  my  grandchild,  I  never  would 
have  let  you  leave  me. ' ' 

He  was  smiling. 

"You  should  know  my  grandfather,  and  then  you 
would  understand." 

"How  did  you  happen  to  come  to  Gila?"  he  asked. 

"I  met  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Clayton  in  the  home  of  one  of 
their  friends  in  England.  We  were  house  guests  there 
at  the  same  time.  We  returned  to  America  on  the  same 
steamer.  Mrs.  Clayton  knew  I  was  to  do  settlement 


50  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

work,  and  urged  me  to  com£  to  Gila  a  while  instead.  So 
I  came." 

How  much  her  coming  was  beginning  to  mean  to  him, 
to  others!  Both  were  silent  a  while.  Then  it  was 
Kenneth  who  spoke. 

"Do  you  know,  Miss  Bright,  it  never  occurred  to  me 
before  you  came,  that  I  had  any  obligations  to  these 
people?  Now  I  know  I  have.  I  was  indifferent  to  the 
fact  that  I  had  a  soul  myself  until  you  came. ' ' 

She  looked  up  questioningly. 

"Yes,  I  mean  it,"  he  said.  "To  all  intents  and  pur- 
poses I  had  no  soul.  A  man  forgets  he  has  a  soul  when 
he  lives  in  the  midst  of  vice,  and  no  one  cares  whether 
he  goes  to  the  devil  or  not." 

"Is  it  the  environment,  or  the  feeling  that  no  one 
cares?"  she  asked. 

' '  Both. ' '    He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"Did  you  feel  that  no  one  cared?  I'm  sure  your 
mother  cared." 

She  had  touched  a  sore  spot. 

"My  mother?"  he  said,  bitterly.  "My  mother  is  a 
woman  of  the  world."  Here  he  lifted  his  head.  "She 
is  engrossed  in  society.  She  has  no  interest  whatever 
in  me,  and  never  did  have,  although  I  am  her  only 
child." 

"Perhaps  you  are  mistaken,"  she  said  softly.  "I  am 
sure  you  must  be  mistaken." 

"When  a  mother  lets  year  after  year  go  by  without 
writing  to  her  son,  do  you  think  she  cares?" 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  never  receive  a 
letter  from  your  mother?" 

"My  mother  has  not  written  to  me  since  I  came  to 
America.  Suppose  your  mother  did  not  write  to  you. 
Would  you  think  she  had  a  very  deep  affection  for  you?" 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA  51 

Esther's  face  grew  wistful. 

"Perhaps  you  do  not  know/'  she  answered,  "I  have 
no  living  mother.  She  died  when  I  was  born." 

"Forgive  my  thoughtless  question/ '  he  said.  "I  did 
not  know  you  had  lost  your  mother.  I  was  selfish." 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said,  "not  selfish.  You  didn't  know, 
that  was  all.  "We  sometimes  make  mistakes,  all  of  us, 
when  we  do  not  know.  I  lost  my  father  when  I  was 
a  very  little  child." 

"And  your  grandfather  reared  you?" 

"Yes,  grandfather,  assisted  by  my  uncle  and  auntie." 

"Tell  me  about  your  grandfather,  I  like  to  hear." 

"He  was  my  first  playfellow,  and  a  fine  one  he  was, 
too." 

"How  I  envy  him!" 

"You  mustn't  interrupt  me,"  she  said  demurely. 

"I  am  penitent.     Do  proceed." 

Then  she  told  him,  in  brief,  the  story  of  her  life, 
simple  and  sweet  in  the  telling.  She  told  him  of  the 
work  done  by  her  grandfather. 

*  *  He  preaches,  you  tell  me. ' ' 

"Yes,"  she  said,  rambling  on,  "he  is  a  graduate  of 
Yale,  and  prepared  to  be  a  physician.  But  his  heart 
drew  him  into  the  ministry,  the  place  where  he  felt 
the  Great  Physician  would  have  him  be.  Grandfather 
is  a  Friend,  you  know,  a  Quaker." 

"So  I  understood." 

"He  had  a  liberal  income,  so  it  was  possible  for  him 
to  devote  his  entire  time  to  the  poor  and  distressed.  He 
has  been  deeply  interested  in  the  Negro  and  American 
Indian,  and  in  fact,  in  every  one  who  is  oppressed  by 
his  stronger  brother." 

"An  unusual  man." 

"Very." 


52  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"How  could  you  leave  him?  Did  you  not  feel  that 
your  first  duty  was  to  him?" 

"It  was  hard  to  leave  him/'  she  said,  while  her  eyes 
were  brimming  with  tears;  "but  grandfather  and  I  be- 
lieve that  opportunity  to  serve  means  obligation  to 
serve.  Besides,  love  is  such  a  spiritual  thing  we  can 
never  be  separated." 

"Love  is  such  a  spiritual  thing — "  he  repeated,  and 
again,  "Spiritual." 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  then  he  spoke  abruptly. 

"You  have  already  been  the  salvation  of  at  least  one 
soul.  I  owe  my  soul  to  you." 

' '  Oh,  no,  not  to  me, ' '  she  protested.  ' '  That  was  God 's 
gift  to  you  from  the  beginning.  It  may  have  slumbered, 
but  you  had  it  all  the  while. ' ' 

"What  did  your  grandfather  say  to  your  coming  to 
Gila?" 

"When  I  told  him  of  the  call  to  come  here,  told  him 
that  within  a  radius  of  sixty  miles  there  was  no  place 
of  religious  worship,  he  made  no  response,  but  sat  with 
his  head  bowed.  At  last  he  looked  up  with  the  most 
beautiful  smile  you  ever  saw,  and  said,  'Go,  my  child, 
the  Lord  hath  need  of  thee.'  '  Her  voice  trembled  a 
little. 

"He  was  right,"  said  Kenneth  earnestly.  "The 
Lord  has  need  of  such  as  you  everywhere.  I  have  need 
of  you.  The  people  here  have  need  of  you.  Help  us 
to  make  something  of  our  lives  yet,  Miss  Bright." 
There  was  no  doubting  his  sincerity. 

She  had  again  risen  to  go. 

"Don't  go,"  he  said.  "I  would  like  to  tell  you  my 
story,  if  you  care  to  hear." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  your  story.  I  know  it  will 
not  be  as  meager  as  mine." 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA  53 

"I  wish,"  he  said  earnestly,  "that  I  might  measure 
up  to  your  ideal  of  what  a  man  should  be.  I  cannot 
do  that.  But  I  can  be  honest  and  tell  you  the  truth 
about  myself. 

' '  I  belong  to  a  proud,  high-strung  race  of  people.  My 
father  is  like  his  forbears.  He  is  a  graduate  of  Cam- 
bridge; has  marked  literary  ability. 

"My  mother  is  a  society  woman,  once  noted  as  a 
beauty  at  court.  She  craves  admiration  and  must  have 
it.  That  is  all  she  cares  for.  She  has  never  shown 
any  affection  for  my  father  or  me. 

"I  left  England  when  I  was  twenty- two, — my  senior 
year  at  Cambridge.  I've  been  in  America  eight  years, 
and  during  that  time  I  have  received  but  two  letters 
from  home,  and  those  were  from  my  father. ' ' 

"You  must  have  felt  starved." 

"That's  it,"  he  said,  "starved!  I  did  feel  starved. 
You  see,  Miss  Bright,  a  fellow's  home  has  much  to  do 
with  his  life  and  character.  What  is  done  there  in- 
fluences him.  Wine  was  served  on  our  table.  My  par- 
ents partook  freely  of  it;  so  did  our  guests.  I  have 
seen  some  guests  intoxicated.  We  played  cards,  as  all 
society  people  do.  We  played  for  stakes,  also.  You  call 
that  gambling.  My  mother's  men  admirers  were  mush- 
headed  fools." 

"Such  conditions  obtain  in  certain  circles  in  this 
country,  too.  They  are  a  menace  to  the  American 
home,"  she  said  gravely. 

"I  was  sent  to  Cambridge,"  he  continued,  "as  my 
father  and  his  father,  and  father's  father  before  him, 
had  been  sent.  I  was  a  natural  student  and  always  did 
well  in  my  work.  But  my  drinking  and  gambling 
finally  got  me  into  trouble.  I  was  fired.  My  father 
was  so  incensed  at  my  dismissal  he  told  me  never  to 


54  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

darken  his  doors  again.     He  gave  me  money,  and  told 
me  to  leave  at  once  for  America. 

"I  went  to  my  mother's  room  to  bid  her  good-by. 
She  stood  before  a  mirror  while  her  maid  was  giving 
the  final  touches  to  her  toilet.  She  looked  regal  and 
beautiful  as  she  stood  there,  and  I  felt  proud  of  her.  I 
told  her  what  had  happened,  and  that  I  had  come  to  bid 
her  good-by.  She  turned  upon  me  pettishly,  and  asked 
me  how  I  could  mar  her  pleasure  just  as  she  was  going 
to  a  ball.  Her  last  words  to  me  were,  'I  hate  to  be 
disturbed  with  family  matters!'  " 

I  'Did  she  bid  you  good-by?" 
"No." 

1 '  Forget  it, ' '  she  urged.  ' '  All  women  are  not  like  that. 
I  hope  you  will  find  some  rare  woman  who  will  be  as  a 
mother  to  you." 

"Forget  it!"  he  repeated  bitterly.     "I  can't," 

"But  you  will  sometime.  You  came  to  America. 
What  next?" 

"Then  I  entered  the  School  of  Mines  at  Columbia, 
and  took  my  degree  the  following  year,  after  which  I 
joined  Mr.  Clayton  here.  That  was  seven  years  ago." 

I 1  Did  you  know  him  in  England  ? ' ' 

"Yes.  During  these  intervening  years  I  have  fre- 
quented the  saloons.  I  have  drank  some,  gambled  some, 
as  I  did  atjiome.  And  I  have  mingled  with  disreputable 
men  here,  but  not  to  lift  them  up.  I  have  not  cared, 
chiefly  because  I  knew  no  one  else  cared." 

His  companion  was  silent. 

"You  despise  me,  Miss  Bright,"  he  continued.  "I 
deserve  your  contempt,  I  know.  But  I  would  do  any- 
thing in  the  power  of  man  to  do  now,  if  I  could  undo 
the  past,  and  have  a  life  as  blameless  as  your  own." 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  GILA  55 

He  glanced  at  his  companion. 

"What  a  brute  I  have  been,"  he  exclaimed,  "to  pour 
my  ugly  story  into  your  ears!" 

"I  am  glad  you  told  me,"  she  assured  him.  She 
looked  up  with  new  sympathy  and  understanding. 
"You  are  going  to  live  down  your  past  now,  Mr.  Hast- 
ings. We'll  begin  here  and  now.  You  will  not  speak 
of  this  again  unless  it  may  be  a  relief  to  you.  The 
matter  will  not  cross  my  lips." 

She  flashed  upon  him  a  radiant  smile.  She  believed 
in  him.  He  could  hardly  comprehend  it. 

"You  do  not  despise  me?  You  forgive  my  past?" 
He  looked  into  her  face. 

"It  is  God  who  forgives.  Why  should  I  despise 
whom  God  forgives?" 

"If  ever  I  find  my  way  to  God,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "it  will  be  through  you." 

She  quoted  softly: 

"  'Though  your  sins  be  as  scarlet,  they  shall  be  as 
white  as  snow ;  though  they  be  red  as  crimson,  they  shall 
be  as  wool.'  '  Then  she  added,  "I  must  go  home 
now. ' ' 

They  walked  on  to  Clayton  Ranch.  After  a  few 
commonplaces,  Kenneth  lifted  his  hat,  and  turning, 
walked  swiftly  toward  the  company's  headquarters. 

Esther  stood  a  moment,  watching  the  easy,  graceful 
stride  of  the  young  engineer.  His  words  then,  and  long 
afterwards,  rang  in  her  ears, — "Help  us  to  make  some- 
thing of  our  lives  yet."  And  as  the  words  echoed  in 
her  heart,  a  voice  aged  and  full  of  tender  love,  came  to 
her  like  an  old  refrain, — "Go,  my  child,  the  Lord  hath 
need  of  thee." 

She  lifted  her  face  and  looked  into  the  sky.     Sud- 


56  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

denly  she  became  conscious  of  the  beauty  of  the  hour. 
The  violet  light  of  evening  played  about  her  face  and 
form.  She  forgot  the  flowers  in  her  arms,  forgot  the  sun- 
set, and  stood  absorbed  in  prayer. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  BALL 

IT  was  the  day  of  the  ball.     Parties  of  mountain- 
eers, some  on  horseback,  some  in  wagons,  started 
for  Jamison  Ranch. 
In  the  early  evening,  a  wagon  load  made  up  of 
the  members  of  the  Clayton  household,  Kenneth 
Hastings  and  some  Scotch  neighbors,  started  for  the 
same  destination. 

The  road  skirted  the  foothills  for  some  distance,  then 
followed  the  canyon  several  miles;  and  then,  branching 
off,  led  directly  to  Jamison  Ranch.  As  the  twilight 
deepened  into  night,  Nature  took  on  a  solemn  and 
mysterious  beauty.  The  rugged  outline  of  the  moun- 
tains, the  valley  and  river  below, — were  all  idealized 
in  the  softening  light.  The  New  England  girl  sat 
drinking  in  the  wonder  of  it  all.  The  mountains  were 
speaking  to  her  good  tidings  of  great  joy. 

In  the  midst  of  merry  chatter,  some  one  called  out : 

1  i  Sing  us  a  song,  Miss  Bright. ' ' 

It  was  Kenneth  Hastings.  Hearing  her  name,  she 
roused  from  her  reverie. 

"A  song?" 

"Yes,  do  sing,"  urged  several. 

"Sing  'Oft  in  the  Stilly  Night,'  "  suggested  Mrs. 
Clayton. 

"All  sing  with  me,"  responded  Esther. 

Then  out  on  the  stillness  floated  the  beautiful  old 
Irish  song.  Other  voices  joined  Esther's.  Kenneth 

57 


58  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

Hastings  was  one  of  the  singers.  His  voice  blended 
with  hers  and  enriched  it. 

Song  after  song  followed,  all  the  company  partici- 
pating to  some  extent  in  the  singing. 

Was  it  the  majesty  of  the  mountain  scenery  that  in- 
spired Esther,  that  sent  such  a  thrill  of  gladness  into  her 
voice  ?  Or  was  it  perhaps  the  witchery  of  the  moonlight  ? 
Whatever  may  have  been  the  cause,  a  new  quality  ap- 
peared in  her  voice,  and  stirred  the  hearts  of  all  who  lis- 
tened to  her  singing ;  it  was  deep  and  beautiful. 

What  wonder  if  Kenneth  Hastings  came  under  the 
spell  of  the  song  and  the  singer?  The  New  England 
girl  was  a  breath  of  summer  in  the  hard  and  wintry  cold- 
ness of  his  life. 

"Who  taught  you  to  sing?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

"The  birds,"  she  answered,  in  a  joyous,  laughing 
tone. 

"I  can  well  believe  that,"  he  continued,  "but  who 
were  your  other  instructors?" 

Then,  in  brief,  she  told  him  of  her  musical  training. 

Would  she  sing  one  of  his  favorite  arias  some  day? 
naming  the  aria. 

She  hummed  a  snatch  of  it. 

"Go  on,"  he  urged. 

"Not  now;  some  other  time." 

"Won't  you  give  us  an  evening  recital  soon?"  asked 
John  Clayton. 

And  then  and  there  the  concert  was  arranged  for. 

"Miss  Bright,"  said  Mrs.  Carmichael,  "I  am  wonder- 
ing how  we  ever  got  on  without  you." 

Esther  laughed  a  light-hearted,  merry  laugh. 

"That's  it,"  Kenneth  hastened  to  say.  "We  'got 
on. '  We  simply  existed.  Now  we  live. ' ' 

All  laughed  at  this. 


THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  BALL  59 

"You  are  not  complimentary  to  our  friends.  I  pro- 
test," said  Esther.  i 

"You  are  growing  chivalrous,  Kenneth,"  said  Mrs. 
Clayton.  "I'm  glad  you  think  as  we  do.  Miss  Bright, 
you  have  certainly  enriched  life  for  all  of  us." 

"Don't  embarrass  me,"  said  Esther  in  a  tone  that 
betrayed  she  was  a  little  disconcerted. 

But  now  they  were  nearing  their  journey's  end.  The 
baying  of  hounds  announced  a  human  habitation.  An 
instant  later,  the  house  was  in  sight,  and  the  dogs  came 
bounding  down  the  road,  greeting  the  party  with  vocif- 
erous barks  and  growls.  Mr.  Jamison  followed,  'pro- 
fuse in  words  of  welcome. 

As  Kenneth  assisted  Esther  from  the  wagon,  he  said: 

"Your  presence  during  this  drive  has  given  me  real 
pleasure." 

Her  simple  "Thank  you"  was  her  only  response. 

At  the  door  they  were  met  by  daughters  of  the 
house,  buxom  lasses,  who  ushered  them  into  an  immense 
living  room.  This  opened  into  two  other  rooms,  one 
of  which  had  been  cleared  for  dancing. 

Esther  noted  every  detail, — a  new  rag  carpet  on  the 
floor ;  a  bright-colored  log-cabin  quilt  on  one  of  the  beds ; 
on  the  other  bed,  was  a  quilt  of  white,  on  which  was 
appliqued  a  menagerie  of  nondescript  animals  of  red 
and  green  calico,  capering  in  all  directions.  The  par- 
ticular charm  of  this  work  of  art  was  its  immaculate 
quilting, — quilting  that  would  have  made  our  great- 
grandmothers  green  with  envy. 

Cheap  yellow  paper  covered  the  walls  of  the  room.  A 
chromo,  "Fast  Asleep,"  framed  in  heavy  black  walnut, 
hung  close  to  the  ceiling.  A  sewing  machine  stood  in 
one  corner. 

At  first,  Esther  did  not  notics  the  human  element  in 


60  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

the  room.  Suddenly  a  little  bundle  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed  began  to  grunt.  She  lifted  it,  and  found  a  speck  of 
humanity  about  three  months  old.  In  his  efforts  to  make 
his  wants  known,  and  so  secure  his  rightful  attention, 
he  puckered  his  mouth,  doubled  up  his  fists,  grew  red  in 
the  face,  and  let  forth  lusty  cries. 

As  she  stood  trying  to  soothe  the  child,  the  mother 
rushed  in,  snatched  it  from  the  teacher's  arms,  and  gave 
it  a  slap,  saying  as  she  did  so, 

"The  brat's  allus  screechin'  when  I  wanter  dance!" 

She  left  the  babe  screaming  vociferously,  and  re- 
turned to  dance.  Four  other  infants  promptly  entered 
into  the  vocal  contest,  while  their  respective  parents 
danced  in  the  adjoining  room,  oblivious  of  everything 
save  the  pleasure  of  the  hour.  Then  it  was  that  the  New 
England  girl  became  a  self-appointed  nurse,  patting 
and  soothing  first  one,  then  another  babe;  but  it  was 
useless.  They  had  been  brought  to  the  party  under 
protest;  and  offended  humanity  would  not  be  molli- 
fied. 

The  teacher  stepped  out  into  the  living  room,  which 
was  in  festive  array.  Its  picturesqueness  appealed  to 
her.  A  large  fire  crackled  on  the  hearth,  and  threw 
its  transforming  glow  over  the  dingy  adobe  walls,  dec- 
orated for  the  occasion  with  branches  of  fragrant  silver 
spruce.  Blocks  of  pine  tree-trunks,  perhaps  two  feet 
in  height,  stood  in  the  corners  of  the  room.  Each  of 
these  blocks  contained  a  dozen  or  more  candle  sockets, 
serving  the  purpose  of  a  candelabrum.  Each  of  the 
sockets  bore  a  lighted  candle,  which  added  to  the  weird- 
ness  of  the  scene. 

The  room  was  a  unique  background  for  the  men  and 
women  gathered  there.  At  least  twenty  of  the  moun- 
taineers had  already  assembled.  They  had  come  at  late 


THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  BALL  61 

twilight,  and  would  stay  till  dawn,  for  their  journey  lay 
over    rough    mountain    roads  and    through    dangerous 


The  guests  gathered  rapidly,  laughing  and  talking 
as  they  came. 

It  was  a  motley  crowd, — cowboys,  in  corduroy,  high 
boots,  spurs,  slouch  hats,  and  knives  at  belt,  brawny 
specimens  of  human  kind;  cowlasses,  who  for  the  time, 
had  discarded  their  masculine  attire  of  short  skirts, 
blouse,  belt  and  gun,  for  feminine  finery;  Scotchmen  in 
Highland  costume;  Mexicans  in  picturesque  dress;  Eng- 
lish folk,  clad  in  modest  apparel;  and  Irishmen  and 
Americans  resplendent  in  colors  galore. 

For  a  moment,  Esther  stood  studying  the  novel  scene. 
Mr.  Clayton,  observing  her,  presented  her  to  the  in- 
dividuals already  assembled.  The  last  introduction  was 
to  a  shambling,  awkward  young  miner.  After  shaking 
the  hand  of  the  teacher,  which  he  did  with  a  vigor  quite 
commensurate  to  his  elephantine  strength,  he  blurted 
out, 

"Will  yez  dance  a  polky  wid  me?" 

She  asked  to  be  excused,  saying  she  did  not  dance. 

"Oh,  but  I  can  learn  yez,"  he  said  eagerly.  "Yez 
put  one  fut  so,  and  the  other  so/'  illustrating  the  step 
with  bovine  grace  as  he  spoke. 

His  efforts  were  unavailing,  so  he  found  a  partner 
among  the  cowlasses. 

Again  Esther  was  alone.  She  seated  herself  near 
one  of  the  improvised  pine  candelabra,  and  continued 
to  study  the  people  before  her.  Here  she  found  prim- 
itive life  indeed,  life  close  to  the  soil.  How  to  get  at 
these  people,  how  to  learn  their  natures,  how  to  under- 
stand their  needs,  how  to  help  them, — all  these  ques- 
tions pressed  upon  her.  Of  this  she  was  sure: — she 


62  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

must  come  in  touch  with  them  to  help  them.  Men  and 
women  older  and  more  experienced  than  she  might  well 
have  knit  their  brows  over  the  problem. 

She  was  roused  to  a  consciousness  of  present  need  by 
a  piercing  cry  from  one  of  the  infants  in  the  adjoin- 
ing room.  The  helpless  cry  of  a  child  could  never  ap- 
peal in  vain  to  such  a  woman  as  Esther  Bright.  She 
returned  to  the  bedroom,  lifted  the  walling  bundle  in 
her  arms,  seated  herself  in  a  rocker,  and  proceeded  to 
quiet  it.  Kenneth  Hastings  stood  watching  her,  while 
an  occasional  smile  flitted  across  his  face.  As  John 
Clayton  joined  him,  the  former  said  in  a  low  tone : 

"Do  you  see  Miss  Bright 's  new  occupation,  John?" 

"Yes,  by  George!  What  will  that  girl  do  next? 
Who  but  Miss  Bright  would  bother  about  other  people's 
crying  infants?  But  it's  just  like  her!  She  is  true 
woman  to  the  heart.  I  wish  there  were  more  like  her. ' ' 

"So  do  I,  John.  I  wish  I  were  more  like  her  myself 
in  unselfish  interest  in  people." 

"She  has  done  you  great  good  already,  Kenneth." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

Then  a  shadow  darkened  Kenneth's  face.  He  moved 
toward  the  outer  door  that  stood  open,  and  looked  out 
into  the  night. 

At  last  Esther's  task  was  accomplished,  the  babe  was 
asleep,  and  she  returned  to  the  scene  of  the  dancing. 
Kenneth  sought  her  and  asked  her  to  dance  the  next 
waltz  with  him.  She  assured  him,  also,  that  she  did  not 
dance. 

"Let  me  teach  you,"  he  urged.  But  she  shook  her 
head. 

"You  do  not  approve  of  dancing?"  he  asked,  lifting 
his  brows. 

"I  did  not  say  I  do  not  approve  of  dancing;  I  said 


THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  BALL  63 

I  do  not  dance.  By  the  way,"  she  said,  changing  the 
subject  of  the  conversation,  "my  lessons  in  riding  are 
to  begin  to-morrow,  are  they  not  ? ' ' 

"To-morrow,  if  I  may  have  the  pleasure.  Do  you 
think  riding  wicked,  too?" 

This  he  said  with  a  sly  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"Wicked,  too?"  she  echoed.  "What's  the  'too' 
mean  ? ' ' 

"Dancing,  of  course." 

"But  I  didn't  say  I  thought  dancing  wicked.  I  said 
I  do  not  dance." 

' '  Oh,  well,  you  think  it  wicked,  or  you  would  dance. ' ' 

She  looked  amused. 

"What  would  you  say  if  I  should  tell  you  I  learned 
to  dance  years  ago?" 

"That  you  are  strait-laced  obstinacy  personified. 
Why  not  dance?  It  could  do  you  no  harm." 

"It  is  not  expedient,  that  is  all.  Let  me  tell  you  I 
really  did  learn.  I  am  not  an  accomplished  dancer, 
though.  I  was  taught  to  dance  in  a  school  I  attended. 
But  I  have  never  danced  in  social  life." 

"Why  not  put  aside  your  scruples  for  once,"  he 
urged,  "and  dance  the  next  waltz  with  me?  You 
don't  know  what  pleasure  it  would  give  me." 

But  she  still  refused.  He  saw  that  to  pursue  the 
matter  further  would  be  useless.  The  conversation  was 
interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  cowboys  and  cowlasses, 
who,  as  they  filed  past,  were  presented  to  her  by  Ken- 
neth Hastings. 

"How  are  ye?"  asked  one  husky  fellow,  gripping 
Esther's  hand  like  a  vise. 

"Happy  ter  know  yer  acquaintance,"  said  another. 

The  girls  snickered  and  looked  foolish,  keeping  time 
to  the  music  with  the  tapping  of  their  feet. 


64  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

' '  You  like  to  dance,  I  see, ' '  said  Esther  to  one  girl. 

"You  bet  I  do!" 

The  girl's  jaws  kept  time  to  the  music  as  she  vigor- 
ously chewed  gum. 

"Come,  Jim,"  said  another  loud-voiced  cowlass, 
"that's  our  set." 

And  away  they  went,  hand  in  hand,  edging  their  way 
through  the  crowded  rooms.  Soon  they  were  in  the 
midst  of  the  boisterous  dancers. 

Kenneth  joined  the  human  fringe  around  the  dance 
room.  He  stood  watching  as  though  what  he  saw 
amused  him. 

"Swing  y'r  pardners,"  shouted  the  fiddler,  above  the 
din  of  voices.  Down  came  the  bow  across  the  strings, 
that  responded  in  shrill,  piercing  notes.  Around  flew 
the  dancers,  their  cheeks  growing  redder  and  redder. 
The  clatter  of  the  cowboys'  spurs,  and  the  tapping  of 
the  fiddler's  foot  kept  time  to  the  music. 

While  watching  the  dancers,  Kenneth  discovered 
Jessie  Eoth,  a  young  Scotch  girl,  in  from  the  range.  As 
soon  as  he  could  do  so,  he  presented  her  to  Esther 
Bright.  Jessie  responded  to  the  introduction  awk- 
wardly and  shyly;  but  as  she  looked  into  Esther's  face, 
she  seemed  to  gain  confidence.  It  was  such  a  kindly, 
such  a  sympathetic  face. 

Jessie  was  a  girl  Esther  had  long  been  wishing  to 
meet,  and  to  interest  in  better  things.  She  was  at  heart 
good,  and  if  wisely  directed  would  undoubtedly  exer- 
cise a  wholesome  influence  over  other  girls.  As  the 
teacher  expressed  her  interest  in  her,  and  what  they 
might  do  together,  Jessie's  face  beamed. 

"Mr.  Hastings  telt  me  aboot  y'r  Bible  school,  an' 
how  ye  wantit  me  tae  come.  Did  ye?" 

"Indeed  I  did." 


THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  BALL  65 

"Dae  ye  want  mony  mair  tae  come?" 

"Yes,  as  many  as  you  can  bring,  Jessie." 

Then  the  two  took  seats  in  the  corner  of  the  room, 
and  Esther  gave  her  an  enthusiastic  account  of  her  plans 
for  the  Gila  girls.  The  Scotch  girl  listened,  with  an 
occasional  comment. 

' '  Do  you  like  the  life  on  the  range,  Jessie  ? ' ' 

"Rael  weel!    Y're  as  free  as  the  air!" 

Here  the  girl  gave  her  body  and  arms  a  swing,  as 
though  ready  to  leap  to  the  back  of  a  running  horse. 
She  seemed  all  muscle. 

"My  mustang's  the  best  friend  I  hev.  I  broke  'er 
mysel '.  My !  She  can  gae  like  the  wind ! ' ' 

"You!"  said  the  astonished  teacher.  "Can  you 
break  a  horse?" 

"Can  I?"  she  repeated  in  amusement.  "I'd  like 
tae  show  ye.  I  wad  like  tae  tak  ye  oot  on  the  range 
wi'  me.  My,  but  ye'd  like  it!" 

"No  doubt.    What  do  you  do  out  on  the  range?" 

"Oh,  we  rides  an'  rides  an'  looks  after  the  cattle; 
we  cooks,  an'  plays  cards,  an'  joshes  the  boys." 

Here  Jessie  laughed. 

"What  a  dreary  life  this  must  be,"  thought  Esther. 
She  said  aloud, 

"You  must  find  the  life  monotonous  and  lonely." 

"Never  lonely,  schoolma'am.  It's  full  o'  excitement. 
There's  somethin'  doin'  all  the  time.  Sometime  ye  sees 
herds  o'  antelope,  or  ye  meets  a  grizzly.  It's  better 'n 
a  dance  tae  bring  down  a  grizzly. ' ' 

"A  bear?"  the  teacher  exclaimed  in  astonishment. 
"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  ever  killed  a  bear?" 

The  cowlass's  eyes  sparkled  as  she  said  proudly: 

"I've  shot  several,  an'  other  big  game  too.  But  the 
greatest  thing  on  the  range  is  tae  see  a  stampede  o' 


66  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

cattle.  It's  as  much  as  y'r  life's  worth  tae  be  in  their 
way." 

The  girl,  though  rough,  had  a  vitality  and  pictur- 
esqueness  attractive  to  the  polished  New  Englander. 

It  was  equally  certain  that  Esther  was  attractive  to 
the  cowlass.  Jessie  left  her  for  a  moment,  but  soon 
returned,  bringing  three  others  with  her.  After  pre- 
senting them,  she  said: 

1 '  Tell  'em,  schoolma  'am,  what  ye  telt  me. ' ' 

''Tell  what,  Jessie?" 

"Oh,  aboot  the  Bible  school  an'  the  parties,  an'  how 
ye  wants  tae  dae  somethin'  fer  the  lasses." 

Then  Esther  briefly  outlined  her  plans,  during  which 
they  occasionally  interrupted  her  by  questions  or  com- 
ments. 

"Do  you  mean,  schoolma 'am,  that  y're  willin'  to  learn 
us  outside  o'  school  hours?" 

"Yes." 

"Y're  mighty  good.  I  love  ye  already,"  said  one 
lass. 

"But  we're  sae  auld,"  said  Jessie. 

"No,  you're  not.  You're  not  old, — not  too  old  to 
study." 

"Yes,  schoolma 'am,  that's  what  mother  used  tae  say," 
said  Jessie  in  a  softer  tone.  She  turned  her  face  aside. 
Another  girl  whispered  to  Esther, 

"Her  father  killed  her  mother  when  he  was  drunk." 

Esther  slipped  her  arm  around  Jessie's  waist,  and 
continued  to  speak  her  plans,  and  how  much  their  co- 
operation would  mean  to  her. 

"Git  y'r  pardners!"  shouted  the  fiddler. 

Soon  the  lasses  were  led  away  to  the  dance;  and  for 
the  time,  nothing  more  was  said  of  their  plans ;  but  Es- 


THE  KOOKY  MOUNTAIN  BALL  67 

ther  Bright  knew  that  of  all  the  days'  work  she  had 
done  in  Gila,  this  would  probably  count  the  most. 

The  rooms  were  now  crowded  with  people.  The  huge 
candles  burned  lower;  the  air  grew  more  stifling;  the 
noise  more  tiring. 

As  she  looked  up,  she  met  the  gaze  of  a  young  English 
girl,  who  flushed  and  turned  her  eyes  away.  An  instant 
later,  Kenneth  Hastings  seated  himself  by  Esther  and 
began  speaking. 

' '  I  was  glad  to  see  you  talking  with  the  cowlasses,  for 
they  need  the  gentle,  refining  influence  that  you  can 
bring  them."  He  was  evidently  deeply  in  earnest. 
''You  have  no  idea  how  full,  of  peril  their  life  is.  You 
see  there  is  something  in  this  bold,  free  life  of  exposure 
that  almost  unsexes  a  woman.  Some  of  the  cowlasses 
are  good-hearted,  honest  girls,  but  many  are  a  hard  lot. 
Your  womanly  influence  would  help  them." 

As  he  spoke,  he  caught  sight  of  the  girl  who,  a  mo- 
ment before,  had  attracted  Esther's  attention. 

"Do  you  see  that  girl  with  the  cameo-like  face?"  he 
asked. 

"Yes." 

"I  have  been  hoping  you  could  save  that  child.  She 
can't  be  more  than  seventeen,  if  she  is  that.  What  her 
previous  history  is  I  do  not  know;  but  it  is  evident 
she  has  had  gentle  breeding." 

1 1  What  a  sweet  face  she  has ! ' ' 

"Yes.     Lovely,  isn't  it?     Like  a  flower." 

' '  What  is  her  name  ? ' '  Esther  looked  sympathetically 
at  the  girlish  figure. 

"Earle— Carla  Earle.  She  lives  at  Keith's.  I  see 
her  often  with  Mark  Clifton,  a  young  Englishman  here. 
He  is  a  wild  fellow.  She  is  shy  of  everyone  else." 


68  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"Poor  child !"  said  Esther,  glancing  toward  her. 

' '  I  made  bold  to  speak  to  her  one  day,  and  invited  her 
to  come  to  your  Bible  school.  I  believe  if  you  could 
meet  her  you  would  be  her  salvation." 

Esther  looked  up  with  a  grave  question  in  her  eyes. 

"Well?"  he  asked. 

"You  invite  her  to  come  to  the  Bible  school,  but  do 
not  come  yourself,  do  not  offer  to  help." 

"It  does  seem  inconsistent,  doesn't  it?  I  will  try  to 
explain. ' ' 

He  studied  the  cracks  in  the  floor. 

"You  see,  I  have  felt  that  I  would  be  a  hypocrite  if  I 
came.  I  know  nothing  about  religion;  at  least,  I  knew 
nothing  about  it  until  I  began  to  find  it  in  you. ' ' 

"And  yet  religion  is  the  great  question  of  life.  I 
wonder  that,  with  your  habit  of  thought,  you  have  not 
been  attracted  to  the  study  of  philosophy  and  religion." 

"Some  of  the  most  materialistic  men  I  have  known," 
he  replied,  "have  been  students  of  philosophy  and  re- 
ligion. They  seemed  anything  but  religious.  But  your 
religion  is  practical.  You  live  it.  You  make  men  be- 
lieve in  your  religion,  make  them  believe  it  is  the  one 
real  thing  of  life.  I  need  to  be  taught  of  you. ' ' 

"Please  bring  this  young  girl  to  me,  or  take  me  to 
her,"  she  responded. 

Together  they  sought  Carla  Earle.  As  Esther  was  in- 
troduced, she  clasped  Carla 's  hand,  and  began  to  talk  to 
her  of  England.  Kenneth  excused  himself,  and  the  two 
girls  took  seats  in  the  corner  where  he  had  left  them. 
At  first  Carla  avoided  looking  into  the  face  of  her  com- 
panion. When  she  did  gain  courage  to  look  up,  she 
saw  that  Esther's  face  was  full  of  tenderness.  What 
could  it  mean?  Sympathy  for  her?  Carla  Earle? 


THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  BALL  69 

Her  chest  rose  and  fell.  Suddenly  she  hid  her  face  in 
her  hands,  while  suppressed  sobs  shook  her  frame. 

Quickly,  Esther  slipped  her  arm  about  her,  and  drew 
her  to  the  open  door,  and  out  into  the  clear  night  air. 
There,  Nature  seemed  full  of  peace.  Up  and  down,  the 
two  walked  in  the  moonlight,  talking  in  low,  earnest 
tones.  Often  they  paused  and  looked  up  into  the 
heavens.  Once  the  English  girl  bowed  her  head  on  the 
New  England  girl's  shoulder,  and  wept  bitterly.  The 
teacher  listened,  listened  to  a  story  whose  pathos 
touched  her  heart.  Then  she  said  gently: 

"You  know  right  from  wrong.  Leave  the  wrong 
life.  Come  to  me  for  shelter,  until  I  can  find  a  home 
for  you  where  you  will  be  safe,  and  I  hope,  contented. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  can't,"  sobbed  Carla,  "I  am  so  unhappy!" 

"I  know  you  can  leave  if  you  will,"  Esther  said 
firmly.  "You  will  have  strength  and  courage  given  you 
to  do  right.  It  is  wrong  for  you  to  continue  in  the 
life  you  are  now  living." 

Carla  shuddered.     She  was  still  weeping. 

"God  will  never  forgive  me,"  she  said.  "He  has 
forsaken  me." 

She  seemed  utterly  hopeless. 

"God  always  forgives  those  who  come  to  Him  peni- 
tent, Carla.  He  has  not  forsaken  you;  you  have  for- 
saken Him.  I  am  glad  you  and  I  have  found  each 
other.  Perhaps  I  can  help  you  find  your  way  back  to 
God." 

Carla  gripped  her  hand.  When  they  re-entered  the 
house,  the  English  girl  slipped  into  the  bedroom. 

"Fust  couple  forrerd  an'  back!"  called  out  the 
fiddler,  keeping  time  with  his  foot. 

There  were  bows,  differing  more  in  quality  than  in 


70  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

kind;  bows  masculine,  with  spurred  foot  to  rearward; 
bows  feminine,  quite  indescribable. 

1  'Swing  y'r  pardners!"  shouted  the  fiddler,  flourish- 
ing his  bow.  Around  flew  the  lasses,  with  skirts  and 
ribbons  flying;  down  came  the  boots  of  the  cowboys, 
their  spurs  clanking  time  to  the  music.  The  room  grew 
more  stifling. 

Among  the  late-comers  was  a  middle-aged  woman,  im- 
maculately clean.  Her  snapping  black  eyes  were  set 
close  to  her  nose,  which  was  sharp  and  thin.  Her  lips 
closed  firmly.  Her  thin  black  hair,  drawn  tightly  back, 
was  fastened  in  a  tight  wad  at  the  back  of  her  head. 
She  wore  an  antiquated  black  alpaca  dress,  sans  buttons, 
sans  collar,  sans  cuffs;  but  the  crowning  glory  of  her 
costume,  and  her  particular  pride,  was  a  breastpin  of 
hair  grapes.  She  was  accompanied  by  an  easy-going, 
stubby  little  Irishman,  and  a  freckle-faced,  tow-headed 
lad  of  ten. 

"Maw,  Maw!"  said  the  child,  "there's  my  teacher!" 

"Mind  y'r  mannerses,"  said  the  woman,  as  she  cuffed 
him  on  the  ear. 

"I  am  mindin'  my  mannerses,"  he  said  sulkily. 

The  teacher  saw  the  shadow  on  the  child's  face, 
stepped  forward  to  greet  him,  then  extended  her  hand 
to  the  mother,  saying: 

"Good  evening,  Mrs.  Black.  I  am  Brigham's 
teacher.  * ' 

But  Mrs.  Murphy  was  on  the  war-path. 

"I'm  not  Miz.  Black,"  she  snapped,  assuming  an  air 
of  offended  dignity;  "I'm  Miz  Murphy,  the  wife  o' 
Patrick  Murphy.  This  is  my  man,"  pointing  to  the 
stubby  Irishman,  with  the  air  of  a  tragedy  queen.  The 
teacher  thereupon  shook  hands  with  Patrick.  Mrs. 
Murphy  continued: 


THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  BALL  71 

"My  first  husband  were  a  Young,  my  second  a 
Thompson,  my  third  a  Wigger,  my  fourth  a  Black,  and 
my  fifth  a  Murphy." 

"I  wonders  who  the  nixt  wan  will  be,"  said  Patrick, 
grinning  from  ear  to  ear.  "My  woman  lived  wid  the 
Mormons. ' ' 

Mrs.  Murphy's  eyes  looked  daggers.     He  continued: 

"An'  she  thought  if  it  were  good  fur  wan  man  to 
marry  many  women,  it  were  equally  good  fur  wan 
woman  ter  have  many  husbands,  even  if  she  didn't 
have  all  of  thim  ter  onct."  He  chuckled. 

"Mind  y'r  bizness!"  snapped  the  irate  Mrs.  Mur- 
phy. 

"An'  so  it  came  my  turrhn,  schoolma 'am,  an'  she 
were  that  delighted  wid  me  she  have  niver  tried  another 
man  since.  Eh,  mavourneen?" 

Saying  which,  Patrick  made  his  escape,  shaking  with 
laughter. 

Then  Esther  poured  oil  on  the  troubled  waters, 
by  telling  Mrs.  Murphy  how  interested  she  was  in  what 
Brigham  had  told  her  of  his  little  sisters,  Nora  and 
Kathleen. 

"Won't  you  sit  down,  Mrs.  Murphy?" 

Esther's  voice  and  manner  were  very  charming  at 
that  moment,  as  she  drew  a  chair  forward  for  her  com- 
panion. 

Somewhat  mollified,  Mrs.  Murphy  seated  herself. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  ef  I  do  set  down.  I'm  that  tuck- 
ered out  with  scrubbin'  and  washin'  an'  cookin',  I'm 
af eared  I  can't  dance  till  mornin'." 

As  she  talked,  she  fanned  herself  with  her  red  cotton 
handkerchief. 

"You  enjoy  dancing,  don't  you,  Mrs.  3!urphy,?'' 
vasked  the  teacher,  with  apparent  interest. 


72  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

" Enjoy  dancin'?  I  should  say  I  did!"  She  sud- 
denly assumed  an  air  of  great  importance.  "Back 
East  where  I  was  riz,  I  went  ter  all  the  barn  raisin's, 
an'  was  accounted  the  best  dancer  in  the  county." 

She  showed  sudden  interest  in  the  fiddler,  and  tapped 
time  to  the  music  with  her  foot. 

"Then  I  joined  the  Mormons.  When  I  lived  in 
Utah,  there  was  plenty  o'  dancin',  I  can  tell  you." 

"You  are  from  New  York,  Mrs.  Murphy,  I  think  you 
said." 

"Yep,"  complacently.  "I  was  riz  in  York  State, 
near  Syrycuse.  My  folks  was  way  up,  my  folks  was. 
Why,  my  aunt's  husband's  sister's  husband  kep'  a  con- 
fectony,  an'  lived  on  Lexity  Street,  York  City.  She 
were  rich,  she  were, — an'  dressed!  My  landy!  How 
she  dressed !  Always  latest  style !  Ye  didn  't  know  her, 
I  s'pose.  Miz  Josiah  Common  was  her  name,  lived  at 
650  somethin'  Lexity  Street.  Wisht  you'd  a  knowed 
her." 

Here  she  mopped  her  face  again. 

It  was  not  often  that  Mrs.  Murphy  found  herself 
in  society,  and  in  society  where  she  wished  to  make  an 
impression.  Her  voice  rose  higher  and  shriller. 

"Yep,"  she  continued,  in  a  tone  of  supreme  satis- 
faction, "I'm  'lated,  as  it  were,  to  Miz  Josiah  Com- 
mon. She  gimme  this  here  pin." 

Here  she  took  off  a  hair  grape  pin,  and  held  it  up 
for  inspection.  "A  bunch  o'  grapes,  yer  see,  heredi- 
taried  in  the  family,  descended  from  father  to  son,  yer 
know,  in  memory  of  the  departed." 

All  this  in  a  tone  of  one  who  gives  information,  and 
commiserates  the  ignorance  of  the  listener.  Suddenly 
Esther  Bright  lifted  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

"Got  pink  eye?"  asked  Mrs.  Murphy  with  sudden 


THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  BALL  73 

sympathy.  But  at  this  moment  Patrick  Murphy  joined 
them,  and  Mrs.  Murphy  rose  to  dance  with  him. 

As  the  two  left  her,  Esther  saw  John  Clayton  edging 
his  way  through  the  crowd.  An  instant  later,  he  pre- 
sented Lord  Kelwin,  of  Dublin,  Ireland. 

"Really,"  said  the  newcomer,  "I  had  no  idea  I 
should  meet  an  American  lady  on  the  frontier.  I  am 
charmed.  So  delighted,  Mr.  Clayton,  to  meet  Mrs.  Clay- 
ton and  Miss  Bright.  I  had  anticipated  meeting  In- 
dians, Indian  princesses,  don't  you  know,  like  the  people 
we  see  in  the  shows  you  send  us." 

"It  is  too  bad  you  should  be  disappointed,  Lord 
Kelwin,"  said  the  New  Englander,  smiling.  "There 
are  princesses  galore  in  the  southwest,  and  a  little 
search  will  reward  you." 

"Beg  pardon,  I  did  not  intend  to  give  the  impres- 
sion that  I  was  disappointed;  rather,  I  am  surprised 
that  here  out  of  civilization,  ah — ah — I  should  find  a 
lady, — two  ladies.  I  count  myself  most  fortunate." 

John  Clayton's  eyes  twinkled.  At  the  first  oppor- 
tunity he  drew  Lord  Kelwin  aside,  and  whispered  in 
his  ear.  The  Irishman  looked  astonished. 

"An  Indian  princess,  did  you  say?     By  Jove!" 

"Yes,  of  the  blood  royal,"  replied  John  Clayton,  with 
gravity. 

"And  possessed  of  untold  wealth?  What  was  it  you 
said?" 

"Of  untold  wealth.  I'd  rather  have  her  wealth  than 
the  crown  jewels  of  any  royal  house." 

"By  George!  A  fortune  and  a  pretty  girl  thrown 
in!" 

It  was  evident  that  this  bit  of  information  was  not 
without  effect  upon  Lord  Kelwin,  for  he  turned  to  Es- 
ther Bright  effusively. 


74  THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  GILA 

"It  is  such  a  pleasure,  such  a  great  pleasure,  to  meet 
one  who  so  charmingly  represents  her  race." 

He  bowed  deferentially. 

Esther  looked  mystified.  Before  she  could  frame  a 
reply,  their  conversation  was  interrupted. 

Lord  Kelwin  drew  John  Clayton  aside. 

"An  American  princess,  did  you  say?" 

"Yes,  by  divine  right,"  responded  the  older  man. 

The  Irishman  adjusted  his  monocle,  to  view  Esther 
more  critically. 

"She  looks  more  like  an  English  woman,"  he  said 
meditatively.  "Rather  too  slender  to  be  a  beauty." 

"She  was  born  on  the  free  soil  of  America,"  contin- 
ued his  companion,  "and  has  some  ideas  of  her  own." 

The  Irishman  smiled  cynically. 

"As  if  a  pretty  girl  ever  had  ideas  of  her  own!  She 
usually  knows  just  what  her  mamma  or  governess 
teaches  her.  I  always  find  a  pretty  girl  an  easy  victim. 
I've  broken  more  than  one  innocent's  heart."  He 
twirled  his  moustache. 

"You'll  not  get  on  so  well  with  Miss  Bright.  You 
see,  she  is  used  to  meeting  men. ' '  John  Clayton  looked 
a  trifle  wicked,  as  he  continued,  "She  might  take  you 
for  a  long-headed  animal  with  long  ears." 

But  the  last  remark  was  lost  upon  the  Irishman, 
whose  attention  was  fixed  upon  Esther  Bright. 

"You  say  her  ancestors  were  savages,  Mr.  Clayton?" 

"I  suppose  they  were  savages,  same  as  ours.  She 
has  the  best  heritage  the  ages  can  give, — a  healthy  body, 
a  beautiful  mind,  and  a  heroic  soul." 

John  Clayton's  voice,  half  ironical,  had  an  undertone 
of  seriousness. 

"A  heroic  soul!  A  heroic  soul!"  The  Irishman 
raised  his  monocle  again.  "I  didn't  suppose  savages 


THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  BALL      75 

had  souls.  I've  always  imagined  this  fad  about  souls 
came  with  civilization." 

"I  have  begun  to  think,"  answered  his  companion, 
"that  with  much  of  the  so-called  civilization,  men  and 
women  are  losing  their  souls.  Miss  Bright  is  a  re- 
markable woman.  She  believes  in  the  possibilities  of 
every  man  and  woman.  It  is  her  purpose  in  life  to 
awaken  the  soul  wherever  she  finds  it  dormant  or 
atrophied. ' ' 

"Indeed!" 

Again  the  monocle  was  raised,  and  the  Irishman's 
curious  gaze  was  fixed  upon  the  American  girl,  then 
engaged  in  conversation  with  a  cowboy. 

Patrick  Murphy  now  interrupted  this  dialogue. 

"Lord  Kelwin,  we  wants  yez  ter  dance  an  Irish  jig." 

The  lord  lifted  his  eyebrows. 

"There's  no  one  to  dance  an  Irish  jig  with  me  un- 
less you  do  it  yourself,  Patrick." 

Here  there  was  a  general  laugh. 

"Come  along  wid  yez,"  persisted  Patrick,  half  car- 
rying him  toward  the  dance  room. 

"Here,"  he  said  to  Lord  Kelwin,  "here's  light-footed 
Janette  O'Neil  will  dance  this  wid  yez." 

There  was  a  stir.  The  center  of  the  room  was 
cleared,  then  out  stepped  Lord  Kelwin,  leading  rosy, 
graceful  Janette.  She  was  lithe  and  dainty. 

The  fiddler  flourished  his  bow,  drew  it  across  the 
strings,  and  brought  forth  the  strains  of  "Soldier's 
Joy," — a  melody  that  sets  an  Irishman's  feet  flying. 

Janette  '&  short,  red  skirt  showed  her  trim  feet  and 
ankles.  Down  the  room  came  the  two  dancers,  side  by 
side,  their  feet  fairly  flying.  Backward,  again  they 
danced,  the  length  of  the  room,  still  keeping  up  the 
feathery  rapidity  pf  flying  feet.  Then  Lord  Kelwin 


76  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

swung  his  partner  around  and  around ;  then  facing  each 
other,  they  danced  apart.  Expressions  of  admiring 
approval  were  heard. 

"Them's  fine  dancers!" 

"Go  it,  Kelwin!     I'll  bet  on  you." 

"Three  cheers  for  ould  Ireland!" 

Down  again  the  full  length  of  the  room  sped  the  fly- 
ing feet;  then  back  again.  Then,  whirling  as  birds  in 
flight,  they  faced  each  other  once  more,  and  danced 
apart,  and  finished  the  dance  amid  deafening  applause. 
As  it  continued,  Lord  Kelwin  raised  his  hand  for  atten- 
tion. 

"Give  us  the  Highland  fling.  Here,  Burns,  you  and 
Jessie  Roth  dance  the  Highland  fling." 

"Highland  fling!  Highland  fling!"  echoed  many 
voices. 

Again  the  center  of  the  room  was  cleared,  and  Robert 
Burns  led  forth  Jessie  Roth. 

In  a  moment  the  air  of  "Bonnie  Woods  and  Braes" 
shrieked  from  the  fiddle.  With  rhythmic  swing  of  body 
and  limb,  the  graceful  Scotch  dancers  kept  time  to  the 
music.  Up  rose  the  arm  of  the  girl,  with  inimitable 
grace;  forward  came  one  foot,  daintily  touching  the 
floor.  It  was  the  very  poetry  of  motion.  At  the  close 
of  this  dance,  the  applause  was  again  deafening. 

"Git  y'r  pardners  fer  Virginny  reel!"  shouted  the 
weary  fiddler. 

In  the  rush  of  the  dancers,  John  Clayton  was 
jostled  against  Esther  Bright  and  Kenneth  Hastings. 

"Well!"  said  he,  "I  believe  we'd  better  go  out  to 
supper,  and  then  start  homeward." 

A  brief  search  brought  the  other  members  of  the 
party.  They  seated  themselves  at  a  long  improvised 
table,  covered  with  red  tablecloths.  There  was  but  one 


THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  BALL  77 

course,  and  that  included  everything  from  roast  veni- 
son and  Irish  stew,  hot  biscuit  and  honey,  to  New  Eng- 
land doughnuts,  hot  tamales  and  whiskey. 

Near  by  sat  an  Indian  half-breed,  who,  discovering  a 
large  plate  of  doughnuts,  greedily  devoured  every  one. 
As  he  had  been  drinking  heavily,  no  one  interfered,  or 
made  audible  comments.  When  the  Clayton  party  were 
about  to  withdraw,  there  were  sounds  of  scuffling,  oaths 
and  cries,  from  the  adjoining  room,  followed  by  a  heavy 
thud.  Some  one  had  fallen.  John  Clayton  rushed  out, 
and  finding  one  of  his  own  cowboys  in  the  fight, 
dragged  him  out  into  the  open  air.  To  keep  him  out  of 
the  melee,  he  sent  him  for  their  team,  and  he  himself 
returned  to  the  house  for  the  members  of  his  party. 
The  leave-taking  over,  the  spirited  team  dashed  away 
from  Jamison  Ranch.  The  lights  of  the  house  grew 
fainter  and  fainter,  then  disappeared.  The  babble  of 
voices,  the  clink  of  glasses,  the  clatter  of  spurs,  the 
sound  of  dancing  feet,  were  far  behind.  To  the  New 
England  girl,  the  experience  of  the  night  seemed  a 
strange  dream;  and  the  reality,  the  solemn  hush  of  the 
midnight  sky  brooding  over  all. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   SOUL'S   AWAKENING 

THE  next  evening,  as    the  Claytons  gathered 
about  the  fire,  heavy  footsteps  were  heard 
on  the  veranda. 
"The    cowboys    are    just    in    from    the 
range,"  explained  the  host. 

The  door  opened,  and  four  cowboys  entered. 
Abashed  at  the  presence  of  a  stranger,  they  responded 
awkwardly  to  the  introduction.  They  were  a  pictur- 
esque group  in  the  flickering  firelight.  All  were  dressed 
in  corduroy  jackets,  belted  with  heavy  leather  belts, 
each  of  which  held  a  gun  and  a  sharp  knife.  Each 
man  wore  leather  trousers,  fringed  at  the  bottom,  high 
boots,  with  clanking  spurs,  and  sombrero  hats  that  no 
one  deigned  to  remove  on  entering  the  room.  They 
were  brawny  specimens  of  human  kind,  with  faces  cop- 
per-colored from  exposure. 

The  Claytons  welcomed  them  to  a  place  before  the 
fire.  Many  a  curious  glance  wandered  toward  Esther. 
She  listened  intently  to  their  tales  of  hair-breadth 
escapes,  of  breaking  bronchos,  of  stampedes  of  cattle,  of 
brandings  and  round-ups,  of  encounters  with  Indians 
and  wolves,  and  of  perilous  feats  of  mountain  climbing. 
Noticing  her  interest,  their  tongues  were  loosened,  and 
many  a  half-truth  took  on  the  color  of  whole  truth. 

One  of  the  cowboys  had  been  so  absorbed  in  watch- 
ing her  that  he  had  taken  no  part  in  the  conversation. 
His  steady,  persistent  gaze  finally  attracted  her  atten- 

78 


A  SOUL'S  AWAKENING  79 

tion.  She  was  perplexed  as  to  where  she  could  have 
seen  him.  His  face  looked  strangely  familiar  to  her. 
Then  it  came  to  her  in  a  flash  that  it  was  at  the  school- 
house  the  day  of  the  organization  of  the  Bible  school. 
He  was  one  of  the  men  who  had  protected  her.  She 
saw  he  could  not  be  measured  at  a  glance. 

His  face,  though  strikingly  handsome,  was  one  men 
feared.  Yet  there  were  those  who  could  tell  of  his  deeds 
of  gentleness  and  mercy.  These  were  in  his  better  mo- 
ments, for  he  had  better  moments. 

Many  tales  were  told  of  his  courage  and  daring.  Mr. 
Clayton  sometimes  expressed  the  belief  that  if  this  cow- 
boy had  been  reared  in  the  right  kind  of  atmosphere, 
he  would  have  achieved  distinction.  His  eagle  eye  and 
powerful  jaw  indicated  a  forceful  personality. 

As  Esther  felt  his  magnetic  gaze,  she  turned  and 
asked: 

"Were  you  not  at  the  schoolhouse  the  day  we  or- 
ganized the  Bible  school?" 

"I  was  there  a  few  minutes,"  he  responded.  But  he 
did  not  add  that  he  had  gone  away  with  the  ruffians 
to  prevent  their  disturbing  her. 

She  expressed  the  wish  that  he  would  visit  the  Bible 
school. 

"Oh,  I  haven't  been  in  a  church  since  I  was  a  kid," 
he  blurted  out.  "Then  my  stepfather  turned  me  out 
ter  earn  my  livin'.  I'm  now  twenty-eight,  an'  I  don't 
know  nothin'  but  cattle,  an'  bears,  an'  wolves  an'  In- 
dians. ' ' 

"It  is  sad  not  to  have  a  home,  isn't  it?"  she  said. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  'bout  it's  bein'  sad,"  he  answered, 
as  though  embarrassed.  There  was  a  change  of  expres- 
sion in  his  face. 

"But  then  your  being  thrown  upon  your  own  re- 


80  THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  GILA 

sources  has  made  you  brave,  and  self-reliant,  and 
strong. ' ' 

He  squared  his  shoulders. 

"In  some  ways,  you  have  had  great  opportunities, 
Mr.  Harding,—" 

"Oh,  don't  call  me  'Mr.  Harding,'  "  he  interrupted, 
"Call  me 'Jack.'  " 

"I'll  try  to  remember."  Her  face  lighted.  "These 
opportunities  have  given  you  magnificent  physical 
strength.  I  know  people  who  would  give  a  fortune  just 
to  have  your  superb  strength. ' ' 

He  straightened  up. 

"Well,  I'd  be  glad  to  give  it  to  'em,  if  I  could  only 
have  a  chance  to  know  somethin'. " 

"Know  what?" 

"Know  how  a  man  ought  ter  live."  There  was  in 
his  voice  a  deep,  vibrant  undertone  of  earnestness. 

"It's  a  great  thing  to  live,  isn't  it?"  She  spoke  as 
though  pondering  some  vital  question.  Jack  Harding 
watched  her  curiously. 

"Some  jest  half  live,  schoolma 'am. " 

"That  is  probably  true,"  she  responded,  "but  God 
created  us  capable  of  something  better.  He  has  given 
us  His  world  td  know,  and  the  people  in  it. ' ' 

"The  people  in  it,"  he  repeated  contemptuously. 
"Some  people  are  a  bad  lot,  schoolma 'am,  an'  I'm  one 
of  'em." 

"You  must  not  speak  so  of  yourself.  A  man  who 
will  protect  a  woman,  in  order  that  she  may  continue 
her  work  unmolested,  is  not  a  bad  lot.  Now  I  should  call 
you  a  pretty  good  sort  of  a  man."  A  luminous  smile. 
Almost  any  man  would  have  become  her  willing  slave 
for  that  smile. 

As   her   voice    gave   special   emphasis    to   the   word 


A  SOUL'S  AWAKENING  81 

"good,"  he  squared  his  shoulders  again.  She  con- 
tinued :  / 

"A  man  doesn't  know  how  good  he  really  is  until  he 
begins  to  try  to  help  some  one  else  up.  Then  he  finds 
out." 

"I  need  to  be  helped,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  that  seemed 
to  be  intended  for  her  ear  alone.  "I  am  ignorant, — 
don't  know  nothin'.  Can't  hardly  read,  or  write,  or 
cipher.  Could  yer  learn  me  ? " 

She  looked  at  the  strong  man  before  her,  touched  by 
his  appeal. 

"What  do  you  wish  to  learn?" 

"First  readin'  an'  writin'  an'  cipherin'." 

"What  next?" 

"Oh,  everything  I  guess." 

The  others  had  caught  fragments  of  the  conversation, 
and  now  joined  in.  Mike  Maloney  spoke  first. 

"Do  yez  think  yez  are  a  kid  again,  Jack,  that  yez 
are  sthartin '  wid  book  learnin '  ? " 

"No,  Mike,  not  a  kid,  but  a  dunce." 

Before  the  teacher  could  protest,  he  continued: 

"Ye '11  find  me  an  ignoramus,  schoolma'am.  A  fel- 
low out  on  the  range,  or  in  a  minin'  camp,  don't  git 
much  schoolin'.  But  sometimes  when  ye 're  alone  under 
the  open  sky,  an'  the  stars  come  out,  there's  somethin' 
in  here"  (striking  himself  on  the  chest)  "that  is — is — 
unsatisfied.  I  want  somethin'.  I  don't  know  what  it 
is  I  want,  but  I  believe  you  can  help  me  find  out." 

Let  those  scoff  who  will;  there  is  such  a  thing  as  di- 
vine unrest;  and  when  this  takes  possession  of  a  man, 
his  evolution  has  begun. 

John  Harding  went  on  with  increasing  earnestness. 

"Yer  see,  schoolma'am,  this  not  knowin'  is  awful. 
Y're  not  all  a  man  should  measure  up  to.  Y're  in 


82  THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  GILA 

prison  like,  hide  bound.  It's  come  ter  me  ter-night,  all 
ter  onct,  that  an  ignoramus  is  in  bondage,  an'  that  only 
education  can  set  him  free." 

The  tide  of  his  feeling  gave  him  a  rough  eloquence. 
It  was  evident  his  words  found  a  responsive  echo  in  the 
other  cowboys '  hearts. 

The  teacher  had  listened  with  deepening  interest. 
John  Harding  had  set  her  a  task, — the  greatest  task,  nay, 
the  greatest  pleasure  man  or  woman  can  know,  of  leading 
a  human  soul  out  of  bondage  into  freedom. 

One  of  the  cowboys,  Jimmie  Smith  by  name,  nudged 
Mike  Maloney,  and  whispered: 

"Ask  her  to  learn  us,  too." 

Mike  readily  assented. 

"Would  yez  be  willin'  ter  bother  wid  us  too?" 

"It  would  be  no  bother.     I'd  be  glad  to  help  you." 

There  was  no  doubting  her  sincerity. 

In  a  few  moments,  the  men  were  seated  around  the 
dining  table,  each  with  pencil  and  paper,  and  a  lesson 
in  penmanship  had  begun. 

"Gosh!"  said  Jimmie.  "Ef  that  don't  look  like  the 
rail  fences  back  in  Indianny!" 

As  he  said  this,  he  held  up  to  view  the  very  best  he 
could  do  after  repeated  efforts.  He  laughed  uproari- 
ously at  himself,  the  others  joining  from  pure  sympa- 
thy, for  Jimmie 's  laugh  was  contagious. 

But  Mike  worked  as  though  entered  for  a  race.  He 
seemed  to  need  an  astonishing  amount  of  the  teacher's 
attention,  especially  after  she  commended  his  work. 

' '  Schoolma  'am, ' '  he  called  out,  beckoning  to  her  with 
his  dirty  hand,  "would  yez  be  showin'  me  the  nixt?" 

She  bent  over  him,  naming  principles,  explaining 
slant  and  spacing,  as  she  made  a  group  of  letters. 

"Stim  letthers,  did  yez  say?     Stim?     Stim?" 


A  SOUL'S  AWAKENING  83 

He  held  up  his  work  and  looked  at  it  critically. 
"Manin'  no  disrespict  to  yez,  schoolma'am,  I'll  jist 
call  'em,  not  stim  letthers,  but  fince  posts." 

After  the  laughs  and  gibes  had  ceased,  he  listened  to 
her  a  moment,  and  then  remarked, 

"The  stims  should  all  be  sthandin'  the  same  way, 
did  yez  say?" 

He  grinned  as  he  viewed  his  writing  o'er.  It  was 
clear  to  him,  even  at  that  early  stage  of  the  work,  that  he 
was  not  cut  out  for  an  expert  penman.  Yet  his  last  ef- 
fort that  evening  he  seemed  to  regard  with  special  pride 
and  satisfaction,  and  this  is  what  the  teacher  found  on 
his  paper  when  she  returned  to  observe  his  work : 

klass 

jimme  Smith 

mike  maloney 

John   harding 

bill  weeks 
teecher 

the  angle  of  the  gila 

Night  after  night,  these  cowboys  gathered  for  an  hour 
or  more  at  the  Clayton  home  for  study  with  Esther 
Bright.  Beading,  and  arithmetic,  and  talks  on  physical 
geography  followed.  The  cowboys  did  not  suspect  it, 
but  she  was  fighting  the  degrading  influences  of  the 
saloon. 

Days  came  and  went.  The  interest  in  the  night 
school  increased ;  so  did  the  interest  in  the  Bible  school. 
But  for  some  indefinable  reason,  John  Harding  had  not 
visited  it. 

One  Saturday  morning,  when  Esther  sought  the 
schoolhouse  to  do  some  work  there,  he  joined  her,  en- 
tered the  building,  and  built  a  fire  for  her.  While 


84  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

observing  the  decorations  of  the  room,  he  saw  on  the 
walls  the  words,  "God  so  loved  the  world,  that  he  gave 
his  only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  believeth  in  him 
should  not  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life." 

He  read  and  reread  the  words.  What  could  it 
mean?  He  was  ashamed  to  ask.  At  last  his  great  dark 
eyes  sought  the  teacher's  face.  She  saw  a  question  in 
them. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"What  does  it  mean?" 

"What  does  what  mean?" 

"Them  words, — 'God  so  loved  the  world',  an'  so  on." 

"What  don't  you  understand?" 

"I  don't  understand  none  of  it.  Yer  see,  us  fellers 
uses  'God'  as  a  cuss- word.  That's  all  I  know  'bout 
God." 

"Have  you  never  read  in  the  Bible  about  Jesus?" 

"Bible?  I  ain't  seen  one  sence  I  was  a  kid,  'n'  I 
never  read  it  then,  'n'  ef  God  is  a  father  'n'  anythin' 
like  my  stepfather,  I  reckon  I  don't  care  ter  make  his 
acquaintance. ' ' 

"He  is  not  like  your  stepfather,  for  Jesus  never 
turns  anyone  away.  He  invites  people  to  come  to  Him. 
Would  you  like  to  hear  about  this,  John?" 

"Yes,  mum." 

"Well,  sit  down  and  I'll  tell  you." 

So  they  sat  down  near  the  desk.  Then  the  woman 
of  twenty-four  told  the  Christ-story  to  the  man  of 
twenty-eight  as  to  a  little  child.  He  listened  intently, 
with  the  eagerness  of  a,  man  in  whom  the  passion  to  know 
has  just  been  born.  The  teacher's  words  thrilled  her 
listener.  She  pictured  Jesus  a  child.  Jesus  a  young 
man  in  Nazareth,  working  among  his  fellows,  tempted, 
victorious;  Jesus  healing  the  sick  and  afflicted,  mh> 


A  SOUL'S  AWAKENING  85 

gling  with  sinful  men,  and  freeing  them  from  their 
bondage  to  sin.  The  expression  of  the  man's  face  was 
indescribable.  As  she  reached  the  story  of  the  Cruci- 
fixion, he  asked  huskily: 

"Why  did  God  let  the  Jews  kill  him?" 

"Many  have  asked  that  question.  All  we  know  about 
it  is  what  the  Bible  tells  us.  I  used  to  wonder  if  there 
could  not  have  been  some  other  way  of  salvation  than 
through  the  suffering  and  death  of  Jesus. ' ' 

Her  look  was  far  away,  as  of  one  thinking  of  things 
eternal.  Again  she  read  aloud: 

"And  while  they  abode  in  Galilee,  Jesus  said  unto 
them,  '  The  Son  of  Man  shall  be  betrayed  into  the  hands 
of  men,  and  they  shall  kill  him,  and  the  third  day  he 
shall  be  raised  again.'  And  they  were  exceeding 
sorry." 

"He  knew  it,  then,  that  they  would  kill  him?" 

' '  It  seems  so. ' '     She  read  on  -. 

"He  taught  his  disciples  and  said  unto  them,  'The 
Son  of  Man  is  delivered  into  the  hands  of  men,  and 
they  shall  kill  him;  and  after  that  he  is  killed,  he  shall 
rise  the  third  day. '  ' ' 

She  turned  the  leaves  and  read  again:  "  'As  Moses 
lifted  up  the  serpent  in  the  wilderness,  even  so  must 
the  Son  of  Man  be  lifted  up :  that  whosoever  believeth  on 
him  should  not  perish,  but  have  eternal  life.  For  God 
so  loved  the  world  that  he  gave  his  only  begotten  Son, 
that  whosoever  believeth  in  him  should  not  perish,  but 
have  everlasting  life.  For  God  sent  not  his  Son  into  the 
world  to  condemn  the  world,  but  that  the  world  through 
Him  might  be  saved. '  ' ' 

"He  died  for  us?" 

She  nodded,  and  continued:  "  *I  tell  you  the  truth; 
it  is  expedient  for  you  that  I  go  away:  for  if  I  go  not 


86  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

away  the  Comforter  will  not  come  unto  you;  but  if  I 
depart,  I  will  send  him  unto  you.'  " 

"The   Comforter!" 

"Listen,  John.  'Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this, 
that  a  man  lay  down  his  life  for  his  friends.'  " 

Then  she  closed  the  book. 

"Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,"  he  repeated. 
She  took  up  the  words,  "  'that  a  man  lay  down  his  life 
for  his  friends. '  ' 

1 '  He— gave— his— life— for— us ! ' ' 

John  Harding  spoke  slowly.  The  great  truth  that 
has  comforted  the  human  heart  for  ages  had  at  last 
reached  his  dormant  soul.  The  eagle  eye  seemed  look- 
ing inward;  the  iron  jaw  set;  the  strong  hand  clinched. 
In  this  deep  inward  look,  the  man  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten the  presence  of  the  teacher.  At  last  into  the 
hard  face  flashed  a  comprehending  light,  and  he  spoke. 

"I  would  give  my  life  for  you." 

"I  believe  you  would,"  she  said,  never  doubting. 
' c  Just  so  Jesus  gave  his  life  for  all  mankind. ' ' 

He  looked  up. 

"I  begin  to  understand." 

"He  taught  men  how  to  live,"  explained  the  teacher. 
"He  taught  that  great  and  worthy  love  means  sacri- 
fice, and  that  all  who  would  truly  love  and  serve  their 
fellow  men  must  cease  to  think  about  self,  and  must 
get  about  doing  kind,  helpful  things  for  other  people." 

"I  have  never  known  the  meaning  of  love  or  sacri- 
fice, ' '  he  said.  ' '  I  don 't  know  no  more  about  them  things 
than  I  do  about  God.  But  tell  me  about  Jesus.  What 
happened  after  they  had  crucified  him?" 

He  listened  with  intense  interest  as  she  told  the  story. 

"I  want  ter  know  more,"  he  said.  "I  never  knowed 
sech  things  was  in  the  Bible.  Ef  I'd  knowed  it  when 


A  SOUL'S  AWAKENING  87 

I  was  a  kid,  I'd  a  lived  a  differ 'nt  life.  I  s'pose  it's 
too  late  now." 

' '  No ;  not  too  late. ' '    Her  voice  was  low  and  gentle. 

"I  don't  know  how  ter  begin,"  he  said  helplessly. 
"Tell  me  how." 

"One  way  is  to  feel  deeply  sorry  for  anything  wrong 
in  one 's  past ;  to  repent  of  wrong  thoughts,  wrong  words, 
wrong  deeds." 

"But,  schoolma 'am,  my  wrong  deeds  has  been  so 
many, ' '  and  he  bowed  his  head  on  his  arms  on  the  desk 
before  him. 

"Not  so  many — "  her  voice  was  comforting —  "but 
God  will  forgive  them,  if  you  are  truly  sorry.  Pray 
every  day,  pray  many  times  a  day,  that  God  will  not 
only  forgive  you,  but  help  you  become  a  better  man." 

He  raised  his  head. 

"I  don't  know  how  ter  pray.  I'm  afraid  ter  pray. 
Do  you  know,"  he  said  desperately,  "I've  committed 
about  every  crime  but  murder?" 

Again  he  bowed  his  head  on  his  arms.  His  frame 
shook  with  sobs.  The  calm,  well-poised  girl  had  never 
before  seen  such  a  stirring  of  the  deeps.  A  strong 
man  in  tears  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  witness. 

"Will  yer  pray  fur  me?"  he  said  at  length;  but  he 
did  not  lift  his  head. 

Then  upon  his  ears  fell  the  comforting  voice  of  the 
teacher.  It  was  the  first  time  in  all  his  life  anyone 
had  prayed  for  him.  Something  choked  him.  At  last 
he  looked  up  into  her  eyes. 

"Learn  me  ter  pray,"  he  said  huskily. 

"Say  this,  John,  now:  'Jesus,  Son  of  God,  have 
mercy  on  me.'  ! 

He  repeated,  "  'Jesus,  Son  of  God,  have  mercy  on 
me!'" 


88  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

It  was  the  first  prayer  John  Harding  had  ever  prayed. 
He  rose  to  go. 

"I  wisht— ."     He  hesitated. 

"What  do  you  wish?" 

She  reached  out  a  delicate,  expressive  hand,  and 
laid  it  gently  on  his  brawny  arm.  It  came  to  him,  at 
that  hour,  like  a  benediction  from  God. 

"What  do  you  wish?"  she  repeated. 

"I  wisht  you'd  give  me  a  Bible." 

She  lifted  the  Bible  from  her  desk,  one  long  used  by 
her  and  carefully  marked,  and  placing  it  in  his  open 
hand,  she  said: 

"Never  forget,  John,  that  Jesus,  the  Christ,  the  Son 
of  God,  has  bought  your  soul  with  a  great  price,  and  that 
it  belongs  to  God." 

He  tried  to  thank  her.  Then  turning,  without  a  vocal 
word  of  thanks,  he  left  the  room;  and  with  long,  easy, 
rapid  strides,  sought  the  solitude  of  the  mountains. 

The  something  within  him  that  had  long  been  beating 
to  be  free,  now  asserted  itself.  It  would  have  way.  It 
seemed  to  be  his  real  self,  and  yet  a  new  man,  risen  up 
out  of  his  dead  and  fruitless  past.  It  seemed  to  sing 
within  him,  yet  it  sorrowed.  And  in  the  midst  of  the 
sorrow,  a  great  hope  was  born.  He  knew  it  now, — this 
Something  was  his  own  Soul! 

There,  on  the  heights  of  the  rugged  foothills,  he 
stood  alone.  Only  the  fathomless  deeps  of  the  sky  saw 
the  struggle  of  that  human  soul.  For  a  while  he  seemed 
to  be  passing  through  the  tortures  of  the  damned.  He 
fought  his  way  inch  by  inch.  Great  beads  of  sweat 
covered  his  forehead;  then,  lifting  one  clenched  hand 
high  in  the  air,  as  though  he  had  burst  forth  from  a  dun- 
geon of  death  into  the  light  of  day,  he  said: 

"God!    God!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    GILA    CLUB 

THE  class  of  cowboys   soon  outgrew  the  living 
room  at  Clayton  Ranch,  and  now  occupied 
the  schoolhouse  three  consecutive  evenings  a 
week.     Although  the  class  had  organized  as 
the  Gila  Club,  for  study  and  social  life,  the 
meetings  thus  far  had  been  for  the  purpose  of  study 
only. 

From  the  inception  of  the  club,  it  had  met  with  pop- 
ular favor.  For  many  a  day,  nothing  had  been  so  much 
talked  of,  and  talked  of  with  such  unqualified  approval. 
The  knowledge  of  the  teacher,  her  unselfish  interest  in 
the  men,  her  goodness  and  kindness,  were  themes  upon 
which  many  a  rough  man  grew  eloquent.  Had  Esther 
Bright  been  a  Sister  of  Mercy,  in  the  sacred  garb  of 
the  Church,  she  could  hardly  have  been  revered  more 
than  she  was.  It  never  occurred  to  her  as  she  went  and 
came  among  them,  that  she  needed  a  protector.  Before 
the  year  was  over,  many  a  one  in  that  group  would  have 
risked  his  life  to  save  hers. 

And  yet,  Esther  Bright  was  not  such  an  unusual 
woman.  Such  as  she  may  be  found  almost  anywhere 
in  this  land,  sanctifying  the  home;  rearing  children 
to  be  true  men  and  women;  teaching  in  the  schools; 
ministering  to  the  sick;  protecting  the  pure;  rescuing 
the  fallen ;  and  exemplifying  in  every  act  of  their  lives, 
Christ's  teachings  of  love  and  mercy.  And  the  work 
of  this  great  sisterhood  goes  quietly,  unfalteringly  on, 

89 


90  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

making,  as  no  other  force  does,  for  the  real  progress  of 
the  race. 

An  Esther  Bright  is  never  written  up  in  glaring  head- 
lines of  yellow  journalism;  an  Esther  Bright  is  never 
offered  in  barter  for  a  foreign  title  and  a  degenerate 
husband ;  such  as  she  are  never  seen  at  the  gaming  table, 
nor  among  the  cigarette  and  cocktail  devotees.  We 
find  her  in  places  where  the  world's  needs  are  great, 
calm,  well-poised,  intelligent,  capable,  sympathetic;  the 
greatest  moral  force  of  the  age. 

The  common  man,  if  decent,  always  respects  such 
a  woman.  She  becomes  to  him  a  saint,  an  ideal;  and 
in  proportion  to  his  respect  for  her,  is  his  own  moral 
uplift  possible. 

So  those  rough  men  of  Gila,  in  those  days  of  long  ago, 
came  to  look  upon  Esther  Bright  as  a  sort  of  saint, 
their  Angel,  as  they  called  her ;  and  with  this  deepening 
respect  for  her,  there  gradually  grew  up  in  them,  faint 
at  first,  but  sure  at  last,  a  wholesome  respect  for  all 
womankind.  Such  was  the  atmosphere  of  the  Gila 
Club. 

Among  the  first  to  attend  the  meetings,  after  the 
organization  of  the  club,  was  Patrick  Murphy,  whom 
Esther  had  not  seen  since  the  night  of  the  ball.  He 
came  with  John  Harding,  and  as  he  entered  the  room, 
he  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  jerked  his  slouch  hat 
from  his  head,  and  gave  a  queer  little  duck  in  lieu  of 
a  bow. 

"I  am  plazed  to  be  wid  yez,  Miss."  He  smiled 
broadly. 

She  assured  him  of  a  cordial  welcome  from  all,  ex- 
tending her  hand  as  she  spoke.  He  gripped  it  till  she 
winced,  and  became  so  engrossed  in  hearing  himself 
talk  that  he  forgot  to  release  it. 


THE  GILA  CLUB  91 

"The  byes  has  been  tellin'  av  me  as  yez  learn  'em 
ter  git  on.  Now  that's  what  Oi  allus  preach, — git  on. 
There's  no  use  allus  bein'  wid  yer  nose  ter  the  grind- 
stone." 

He  released  her  hand  to  stuff  more  tobacco  in  his 
pipe.  After  a  puff  or  two,  he  continued  his  remarks: 

"The  childthren  has  been  gittin'  on  so  well,  Oi  sez 
to  mesilf,  sez  Oi,  p'raps  the  schoolma'am  can  learn 
me  ter  figger,  an'  read  an*  write.  So  here  Oi  am," 
(slapping  his  chest  heartily,  as  that  portion  of  his  anat- 
omy rose  an  inch  higher)  "here  Oi  am!" 

Just  then  Esther's  attention  was  sought  by  a  group 
of  newcomers.  Kenneth  watched  her  attitude  towards 
the  people.  She  was  gracious  and  cordial,  but  there 
was  about  her  a  fine  reserve  that  the  commonest  man 
felt,  and  tacitly  respected. 

At  first,  this  young  Englishman  had  been  attracted 
to  the  young  New  England  girl  by  the  delicate  love- 
liness of  her  face,  and  the  elegance  of  her  manner.  He 
had  felt,  from  the  first,  that  in  his  social  intercourse  with 
her,  he  must  rise  above  the  empty  platitudes  of  society. 
There  were  times  when  he  flattered  himself  he  had  made 
progress  in  her  favor.  Then,  when  he  presumed  upon 
this,  he  was  met  by  a  strong  wall  of  reserve. 

Here  she  was  now,  bestowing  smiles  and  gracious 
words  upon  just  common  men.  He  was  filled  with 
disgust.  Then  he,  gentleman  as  he  was,  man  of  the 
world,  university  graduate,  engineer,  felt  his  self-love 
wounded;  and  he  thereupon  had  an  acute  attack  of 
sulks. 

What  was  she  to  him,  anyway? 

The  stern  patrician  face  looked  coldly,  cynically  on  at 
the  men  around  him.  The  "vulgar  herd,"  he  called  them. 

Just  in  the  midst  of  his  morbid  reflections,  he  heard 


92  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

a  merry,  contagious  laugh  from  Esther.  He  did  not 
glance  up.  But,  in  an  instant,  she  was  at  his  side, 
telling  with  great  glee  the  skit  that  had  provoked  the 
laughter.  It  was  so  irresistibly  funny,  Kenneth  laughed 
with  them,  and  the  ice  was  broken. 

To  be  sure,  he  did  not  know  Esther  Bright  as  he 
did  the  alphabet,  but  what  of  that?  Who  could  sound 
the  deeps  of  such  a  rare  woman 's  soul  ?  She  was  a  rare 
woman.  He  conceded  that  every  time  he  held  an  argu- 
ment with  himself,  when  she  was  the  question  of  the 
argument.  Always  in  her  life,  he  was  sure,  there  would 
be  a  reserve,  through  which  no  one  could  pass,  unless  it 
might  be  the  ordained  of  God.  She  fascinated  him 
more  and  more.  One  moment,  in  his  adoration,  he 
could  have  humbled  himself  to  the  dust  to  win  one 
gracious  word  from  her;  at  other  times,  his  pride  made 
him  as  silent  and  immovable  as  a  sphinx. 

On  this  particular  night  at  the  club,  Kenneth  was 
in  one  of  his  moods.  If  Esther  saw,  she  did  not  be- 
tray it.  She  came  to  him,  telling  in  a  straightforward 
way,  that  the  work  had  grown  so  she  could  not  do  it 
all  herself,  and  do  justice  to  the  men?  Would  he  help 
her?  There  was  a  class  in  arithmetic.  Would  he 
kindly  teach  that  for  her  to-night?  Kenneth  looked 
savage. 

1  'Oh,  don't  say  no,"  she  urged  appealingly.  "They 
are  working  in  compound  numbers  and  are  doing  so 
well.  Won't  you  take  the  class?"  she  urged,  again. 
And  Kenneth  consented. 

It  is  but  justice  to  say  that  the  selection  of  the 
teacher  proved  wise.  What  this  did  for  Kenneth  him- 
self is  not  the  least  part  of  the  good  resulting  there- 
from. 

Soon  the  click  of  pencils,  and  occasional  questions  and 


THE  GILA  CLUB  93 

answers  indicated  that  the  arithmetic  classes  were  at 
work.  In  one  corner,  the  dignified  and  scholarly  John 
Clayton  sat  helping  a  young  miner  learn  to  write.  By 
her  desk,  sat  Esther  Bright,  teaching  Patrick  Murphy 
to  read. 

Learning  to  read  when  a  man  is  forty-five  is  no  easy 
task.  Patrick  Murphy  did  not  find  it  so.  He  found 
it  rather  humiliating,  but  his  unfailing  good  humor 
helped  him  out. 

The  teacher  began  with  script  sentences,  using  objects 
to  develop  these.  She  wrote  the  sentences  on  the  black- 
board. Again  and  again  the  sentences  were  erased  and 
then  rewritten.  But  the  pupil  at  last  remembered. 

One  sentence  was,  ' '  I  am  a  man. ' '  Patrick  hesitated ; 
then  solemnly  said,  as  though  reading: 

"Oi  certainly  am  not  a  woman,  manin'  no  disrespict 
to  women  folk,  Miss." 

She  read  quietly  from  the  blackboard  again,  "I  am  a 
man. ' ' 

''Perhaps,  Miss,  it  would  be  more  intilligint  fur  me 
ter  say,  'Oi  am  an  Oirishman.'  " 

' '  Very  well, ' '  she  said,  smiling,  ' '  I  will  write  the  sen- 
tence that  way." 

"You  see,  Miss,"  he  continued,  with  droll  serious- 
ness, "it  is  ividint  Oi  am  a  man.  Let  me  read  the  sin- 
tinces  agin!"  And  he  read  them  correctly. 

Here  the  classes  changed,  each  teacher  helping  a  group 
of  men  with  a  simple  reading  lesson.  Then  followed  the 
lesson  in  penmanship,  taught  by  Esther  Bright,  and  the 
work  of  the  evening  was  over. 

As  the  three  teachers  left  the  schoolhouse  door,  Mr. 
Clayton  laid  his  hand  on  Kenneth's  shoulder,  and  said: 

"Come  over  to  see  Mrs.  Clayton  a  little  while.  It's 
still  early." 


94  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

Kenneth  hesitated. 

"Yes,  do,"  urged  Esther.  "We  have  some  plans  to 
work  out  for  the  club,  you  know,  and  we  need  your 
help." 

Again  there  was  an  appeal  in  her  voice.  What 
a  brute  he  had  been!  What  a  fool!  So  he  strolled 
along  with  the  two.  As  they  stepped  on  the  veranda, 
they  heard  a  deep  voice. 

"Lord  Kelwin!"  exclaimed  John  Clayton. 

The  greetings  over,  the  meeting  of  the  club  and  its 
possibilities  became  the  subject  of  discussion. 

"Why  can't  you  join  us,  Lord  Kelwin?"  questioned 
the  host. 

' '  Yes,  why  not  ? ' '  said  Esther,  with  sudden  animation. 

Kenneth  Hastings'  face  darkened. 

"Ah— I— weU— "  stammered  Lord  Kelwin.  "I 
didn't  suppose  my  services — ah — would — ah — would  be 
agreeable  to  the  teacher/' — and  he  looked  first  at  Esther 
Bright,  and  then  at  Kenneth  Hastings. 

A  single,  hectic  flush  suddenly  appeared  in  one  of 
Esther's  cheeks.  Then  Mr.  Clayton  spoke. 

"You  do  not  seem  to  understand,  Lord  Kelwin,  that 
Miss  Bright 's  class  has  grown  so  rapidly  she  has  had  to 
have  assistance,  and  Mr.  Hastings  and  I,  for  lack  of  bet- 
ter material,  have  been  pressed  into  service.  Come, 
yourself,  and  you'll  want  to  help  the  good  work  on." 
Lord  Kelwin  raised  his  monocle. 

Esther  spoke  quickly,  with  more  enthusiasm  than 
usual. 

"The  girls  have  been  seeking  the  same  opportunity 
we  are  giving  the  men.  They  need  help  just  as  much, 
and  so  we  must  plan  to  help  them  too ! ' ' 

"Yes,  and  kill  yourself!"  growled  Kenneth  Hastings. 

John  Clayton  smiled. 


THE  GILA  CLUB  95 

"Not  if  Miss  Bright  has  sufficient  help.  If  she  will 
organize  the  work,  we  can  surely  assist  her." 

For  a  time,  it  seemed  as  though  a  club  for  girls  was 
doomed.  Then  Mrs.  Clayton  came  to  Esther's  rescue. 

"Miss  Bright  is  already  in  touch  with  the  girls,  and 
knows  something  of  their  great  need." 

"But  they're  such  a  tough  lot,"  rejoined  Lord 
Kelwin. 

'  *  Then  they  need  her  influence  all  the  more.  She  can 
help  them  if  anyone  in  the  world  can."  Again  Mrs. 
Clayton  had  helped  her  out.  The  hectic  flush  deep- 
ened. Esther's  eyes  grew  brilliant.  Her  voice,  when 
she  spoke,  was  low,  calm,  sweet,  but  vibrating  with  an 
earnestness  the  group  about  her  had  occasionally  heard 
in  her  voice  before.  She  spoke  with  decision: 

"I  shall  help  the  girls!" 

"That  settles  it!"  responded  Kenneth,  half  in  ad- 
miration, half  in  disgust.  He  could  not  understand 
what  it  was  that  could  make  a  girl  of  her  fine  and  sensi- 
tive nature,  a  girl  of  her  beauty  and  culture  and  great 
attainments,  not  only  willing,  but  eager,  to  help  a  group 
of  coarse,  uncouth  men  and  women,  of  doubtful  reputa- 
tion, and  who,  to  his  mind,  were  utterly  incapable  of 
appreciating  her. 

John  Clayton  spoke  again. 

"Won't  you  join  us,  Lord  Kelwin?" 

Again  the  Irishman  looked  at  the  teacher,  but  her 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  glowing  fire. 

"I — well — I  suppose — I  could." 

"Suppose  we  have  a  joint  meeting  of  the  men  and 
women  next  Saturday  evening,"  said  Esther.  "Have  a 
programme  that  would  not  be  very  long,  but  interest- 
ing. Then  let  them  have  a  social  time,  and  treat  them 
to  some  cake  and  coffee." 


96  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"That  is  a  happy  thought,  Miss  Bright/'  said  Mrs. 
Clayton  in  hearty  approval. 

Now  plans  began  to  be  discussed  in  earnest.  And  be- 
fore the  guests  departed,  it  had  been  decided  that  the 
first  social  function  ever  given  by  the  people  of  Gila 
should  be  given  in  the  schoolhouse  the  following  Satur- 
day night. 

As  the  two  men  walked  toward  the  camp,  Lord  Kel- 
win  questioned  his  companion. 

"What  did  Clayton  mean  by  Miss  Bright 's  being  of 
the  'blood  royal'?" 

"That  is  what  he  meant." 

"Related  to  some  royal  house  of  Europe,  some  native 
ruler  here,  eh?" 

His  companion  stopped  and  laughed. 

"Royal  by  nature.  It  is  such  blood  as  hers  that 
should  flow  in  the  veins  of  the  rulers  of  the  earth. ' ' 

' t  Then  she  has  no  vast  estates  coming  to  her  ? ' ' 

The  darkness  concealed  the  contempt  on  Kenneth's 
face. 

"If  there  is  a  God,  (and  I  begin  to  believe  there  is) 
she  has  a  rich  reward  before  her." 

"Poor  in  this  world's  goods,  eh?" 

"Rich  as  few  women  are." 

His  companion  whistled.  Kenneth  stopped.  Lord 
Kelwin  stopped  too. 

"Deuced  fine  girl,  isn't  she?"  said  the  Irishman.  His 
companion  made  no  reply.  After  another  remark  from 
Lord  Kelwin,  Kenneth  said  sharply: 

"I  do  not  care  to  discuss  Miss  Bright." 

So  the  converastion  ended.  But  something  rankled 
in  the  heart  of  the  Englishman. 

Saturday  night  came.  Such  jollity!  Such  overflow 
of  spirits!  The  laughter  was  loud  and  frequent.  Peo- 


THE  GILA  CLUB  97 

pie  came  in  a  steady  stream  until  the  little  schoolhouse 
was  full  to  overflowing. 

Among  the  first  arrivals,  were  Patrick  Murphy  and 
his  wife.  He  was  beaming  with  good  nature.  But  Mrs. 
Murphy  had  come  (as  she  expressed  it)  "agin  her 
jedgment."  She  viewed  the  company  with  a  chilly 
glance.  Patrick  chuckled. 

"It's  plazed  Oi  am  wid  this  evint.  Oi've  persuaded 
me  woman,  here,  as  this  is  quoite  equal  ter  anythin'  she 
iver  attinded  in  York  State,  not  even  barrin'  a  barrn 
raisin '. ' ' 

Mrs.  Murphy 's  beady  black  eyes  seemed  to  come  closer 
together.  Her  mouth  set.  Her  nose  rose  by  gradual 
gradations  into  the  air,  and  her  spinal  column  stif- 
fened. She  delivered  herself  to  the  following  effect: 

"I  will  confess  as  I  have  never  been  at  a  club  afore. 
Back  in  York  State  they  was  only  fur  men  folks.  But 
my  'lations  as  lives  on  Lexity  Street,  York  City,  knows 
what  clubs  be,  an'  parties  too,  I  reckon." 

But  here  John  Harding,  the  president  of  the  club, 
called  the  meeting  to  order.  He  announced  that  the 
first  number  on  the  programme  would  be  a  talk  on  phy- 
sics, by  Mr.  Hastings. 

After  the  applause,  Patrick  Murphy,  in  facetious 
mood,  exclaimed: 

"Begorra,  if  yez  are  not  commincin'  wid  physic  fur 
our  stomachs ! ' ' 

"No,"  responded  the  speaker,  "but  physics  for  your 
head,  Patrick." 

When  the  laugh  at  Patrick's  expense  had  subsided, 
Kenneth  announced  the  subject  of  his  talk  as  "Magnet- 
ism." He  talked  simply,  illustrating  as  he  talked.  Oc- 
casionally he  was  interrupted  by  questions  that  showed 
a  fair  degree  of  intelligence,  and  a  desire  to  know.  At 


98  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

the  close  of  his  talk  Patrick,  the  irrepressible,  burst  forth 
again : 

"Yez  said  that  a  natural  magnit  could  magnetize  a 
bar  o'  steel,  makin'  the  steel  a  sthronger  magnit  than 
the  iron,  an'  yit  this  natural  magnit  be  jist  as  magnitic 
as  it  was  before  ? ' ' 

"Yes." 

"Begorra!"  said  Patrick,  slapping  his  knee,  "yez'll 
have  a  harrd  toime  makin'  me  belave  that.  The  idea! 
that  anythin'  can  give  to  another  more  nor  it  has  itself, 
an'  at  the  same  toime  have  as  much  lift  itself  as  it  had 
before  it  gave  away  more  nor  it  had ! ' ' 

Patrick  drew  himself  up.  He  had  assumed  a  sudden 
importance  in  the  community.  Did  he  not  know? 

The  teacher  smiled  indulgently.  As  she  spoke,  there 
was  quiet,  respectful  attention. 

"You  see,  Mr.  Murphy,  the  natural  magnet  is  like  a 
human  being.  The  more  strength  a  man  puts  forth,  the 
more  he  will  have.  If  we  give  of  ourselves,  of  our 
talents,  to  help  other  people,  we  are  enriched  by  it.  So 
the  magnet  teaches  us  a  lesson,  don't  you  see?" 

Patrick  scratched  his  head  dubiously.  The  teacher 
continued : 

"A  natural  magnet  may  not  have  much  power  in  it- 
self, but  when  it  shares  its  power  with  a  steel  bar,  the 
bar  can  do  vastly  more  than  the  piece  of  iron  could.  In 
the  same  way,  the  influence  we  exert,  though  it  may  not 
be  great  in  itself,  may  enable  other  people  to  do  greater 
things  than  we  could  possibly  do. ' ' 

The  lesson  went  home. 

Patrick  shook  his  head  approvingly. 

"All  right,  Miss,  all  right!  Oi'll  belave  the  sthory  if 
yez  say  so.  Oi  foind  it  hard  to  understhand  what  makes 
a  bit  o'  iron  a  natural  magnit.  What  Oi  does  under- 


THE  GILA  CLUB  99 

sthand  is  yez  are  loike  the  steel  magnit,  an'  yez  draws 
the  rist  av  us  to  yez ! ' ' 

And  having  delivered  himself  of  this  compliment, 
which  apparently  met  with  the  hearty  approval  of  the 
company,  he  subsided. 

Then  John  Harding  announced  the  next  number  on 
the  programme, — a  talk  on  Ireland  by  Lord  Kelwin,  il- 
lustrated by  Mr.  Clayton  with  his  magic  lantern.  Again 
there  was  applause;  and  as  the  lights  were  put  out,  the 
giggling  and  laughter  grew  boisterous.  In  an  instant,  a 
picture  flashed  on  the  screen,  and  the  laughter  changed 
to  quiet  attention. 

Lord  Kelwin 's  voice  soon  made  itself  heard.  He  was 
well  known  in  camp,  and  popular.  He  spoke  in  a  bright, 
attractive  way,  with  occasional  flashes  of  Irish  wit,  when 
he  provoked  laughter  and  comment  again.  On  one  of 
these  occasions,  Patrick  burst  forth.  Patrick  was  in 
fine  spirits.  He  had  stopped  at  the  saloon  on  the  way 
to  the  party. 

"Begorra,  the  ould  counthry  is  all  foine  enough  in  a 
picture  or  lecture ;  but  Oi  loike  the  Imerald  Oile  on  this 
soide  betther.  The  Imerald  Oile  of  Ameriky,  bounded 
on  the  north,  by  the  North  Pole ;  on  the  east,  by  the  At- 
lanthic ;  on  the  south,  by  the  South  Pole ;  on  the  wist,  by 
the  Pacific;  an'  on  the  top,  by  the  rist  o'  the  universe. 
Hoorah  fur  the  Imerald  Oile  of  Ameriky!" 

A  howl  went  up,  and  a  laugh  from  everyone,  followed 
by  much  clapping. 

11  Where  did  you  learn  so  much  geography  ?"  asked 
one.  Again  there  was  a  laugh. 

"And  this,"  said  the  speaker,  as  a  new  picture  flashed 
before  their  eyes,  "is  Blarney  Castle.  Here  is  where 
Patrick  learned  his  blarney." 

But  Patrick  was  not  to  be  outdone.     He  chuckled. 


100  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"The  blairney  stone  was  all  roight  whin  Oi  was  at 
Blairney  Castle  in  the  ould  counthry;  but  whin  Oi 
landed  in  Ameriky,  Oi  wint  to  Plymouth,  an'  there  Oi 
found  an  Oirish  saint  holdin'  a  rock.  Oi  sez  ter  him, 
sez  Oi,  'Phat  do  yez  call  the  rock  where  the  Pilgrims 
landed'?  An'  he  looks  at  me  scornful  loike,  an'  sez  he 
ter  me,  sez  he,  'Y're  mishthaken',  sez  he,  'this  is  the 
blairney  stone  of  Killairney.  Ameriky  imports  all  the 
bist  things  from  the  ould  counthry." 

The  people  fairly  howled. 

"Includin'  you,  eh,  Patrick?"  shouted  an  English- 
man, above  the  uproar  of  laughter. 

The  address  held  everyone's  attention,  and  at  its  close, 
both  Lord  Kelwin  and  Mr.  Clayton  were  loudly  ap- 
plauded. 

"This  closes  our  programme,"  said  John  Harding. 
"We  hope  ye '11  talk  an'  have  a  good  time,  an'  look  about 
the  room  ter  see  what  the  children  of  the  school  have  been 
doin'.  Then  the  women  folks  will  feed  yer  cake  an' 
coffee." 

This  announcement,  too,  was  applauded. 

Mrs.  Murphy,  belle  of  the  back-East  barn  raisings, 
separated  herself  from  the  company.  She  came  upon  a 
good-sized  play  house,  neatly  painted  and  papered.  It 
was  furnished  tastefully  with  little  woven  rugs,  wire 
furniture,  and  crocheted  window  curtains.  Over  dif- 
ferent articles,  were  placed  the  names  of  the  children 
who  had  made  them.  Mrs.  Murphy  stood  in  amazed  ad- 
miration, for  her  own  children  had  been  among  the  most 
skilled  workers.  She  found  simple  garments,  neatly 
made,  and  here  and  there  bits  of  sewing,  clumsy,  and 
botched  in  some  cases,  because  baby  fingers  had  been  at 
work. 

The  teacher  joined  Mrs.  Murphy,  who  said  to  her: 


THE  GILA  CLUB  101 

11  You  don't  say,  schoolma 'am,  as  you  learns  the  young 
uns  to  do  sich  things  as  this?" 

"Yes.     Don't  you  like  it?" 

"Like  it!  I  should  say!  Why,  fust  I  know,  they'll 
be  makin'  their  own  does,  an'  their  pap's  an'  mine!" 

"Perhaps." 

But  in  another  part  of  the  room,  a  different  conver- 
sation was  going  on. 

"I  tell  ye,"  said  Jessie  Roth,  who  was  talking  to  Bob- 
bie Burns,  "schoolma 'am  kens  an  awfu'  lot." 

"How  dae  ye  ken?"  he  asked  with  an  air  of  scorn, 
' '  ye  dinna  ken  muckle  yirsel '. ' ' 

'  *  Ye  jist  shut  up,  Bob  Burns, ' '  she  replied  testily.  * '  I 
may  not  ken  muckle,  neither  do  ye.  Ye  has  no  manners. 
I  tell  ye  I  want  ter  learn.  I  'm  a  mind  ter  quit  the  range 
an '  go  ter  school. ' ' 

"What's  the  matter,  Jessie?"  asked  the  teacher,  com- 
ing up  at  this  moment,  and  slipping  her  arm  about  the 
girl's  waist.  "I  believe  Bob  has  been  teasing  you. 
Make  up,  children ; ' '  and  smiling  kindly,  and  with  a  re- 
assuring grasp  of  Jessie's  hand,  she  passed  on. 

"What  'd  I  tell  ye?"  asked  the  girl. 

"Oh,  she's  only  a  woman.  Anyway,  she  don't  care 
much  for  you  lasses,  or  she  'd  had  a  club  for  girls. ' ' 

This  was  more  than  Jessie  could  stand. 

"A  woman,  did  ye  say?  A  woman?"  Jessie's  eyes 
flashed  with  anger.  "An'  wasna'  y'r  mither  a  woman, 
Bob  Burns?" 

"I  believe  she  was,"  answered  the  boy  with  a  broad 
grin.  He  was  enjoying  himself. 

' '  An '  as  fur  the  schoolma  'am 's  not  carin '  fur  the  girls, 
y're  mistaken.  I'm  sure  she  will  have  a  club  fur  us." 

"Yes,"  taunted  the  burly  fellow,  "to  hammer  things 
into  y'r  heads  with." 


102  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

At  this  Jessie  left  him  in  high  dudgeon.  She  sought 
Esther  and  asked: 

"Don't  ye  like  we  girls  as  much  as  the  boys?" 

1 '  Just  a  little  bit  better,  perhaps.     Why,  Jessie  ? ' ' 

"Bob  Burns  says  ye  don't  care  fur  the  girls,  an'  he 
knows  ye  don't  'cause  ye  hain't  made  no  club  fur 
them." 

"Bob's  mistaken,  isn't  he?  We  girls,"  and  the 
teacher  paused  and  smiled  into  several  faces,  "we  girls 
are  to  have  a  club  soon.  Don't  you  say  so?" 

The  girls  gathered  about  her.  Bob 's  remark,  repeated 
by  Jessie,  had  been  most  timely,  and  crystallized  what 
had  been  in  the  girls'  minds, — to  organize  such  a  club 
for  women  as  had  been  organized  for  the  men. 

They  talked  rapidly,  several  at  a  time;  but  at  last 
they  listened  to  Esther,  as  she  asked  them  to  visit  the 
school  at  an  hour  they  could  agree  upon,  on  the  follow- 
ing Monday.  This  they  promised  to  do.  But  at  this 
juncture,  John  Harding  interrupted  the  conversation. 

"They  want  ter  know  as  will  yer  tell  'em  a  short  story, 
Miss  Bright." 

'  *  A  story  ?  Let — me — see — !  What  shall  I  tell  them, 
Jack?" 

"Tell  'em  about  Abraham  Lincoln,  as  didn't  have  no 
chance  till  he  made  it  hisself . ' ' 

So  she  told  them  a  story  of  a  hero,  a  plain,  simple 
man,  a  man  of  toil,  a  man  of  great  heart.  She  pictured 
his  faithfulness  to  simple  duties,  his  rise  to  the  highest 
position  his  countrymen  could  bestow  upon  him,  his 
death  and  the  nation 's  sorrow. 

As  she  finished,  a  cowboy  asked, 

"Did  yer  say  that  Abraham  Lincoln  was  onct  presi- 
dent of  the  United  States?" 

"Yes." 


THE  GILA  CLUB  108 

"My!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  wisht  I'd  'a  knowed  him! 
I  wisht  I  could  'a  fit  on  his  side ! ' ' 

"It  is  not  too  late  to  fight  on  his  side,"  she  said. 
' '  Every  time  you  try  to  live  a  more  sober,  honest,  decent 
life,  every  time  you  try  to  be  more  manly  and  true,  you 
are  fighting  on  the  same  side  he  did. ' '  > 

"Gosh!"  he  said.  "I  didn't  know  that.  I  thought 
fightin'  meant  jest  killin'  off  the  other  fellers." 

While  the  refreshments  were  being  served,  John  Hard- 
ing extended  an  invitation  to  the  men  to  attend  the  club 
regularly,  and  suggested  that  the  girls  see  Miss  Bright 
about  a  club  for  girls,  adding: 

' '  I  believe  a  club  f  er  women  is  in  the  air. ' ' 

Vociferous  applause.  Patrick  Murphy  stepped  for- 
ward. 

"John  Harding,  y'r  honor,  I  jist  wish  ter  say  as  this 
is  the  foinest  toime  Oi've  had  in  Ameriky;  an'  I  tells 
yez  all  this:  that  if  any  young  feller  wishes  ter  git  on, 
he  will  have  a  chance  here  in  this  club.  Schoolma'am 
learns  us  a  lot  (the  Saints  bliss  her!).  She's  a  foine 
lady!  She  believes  in  givin'  a  man  a  chance  ter  be  a 
man.  Instid  o'  wastin'  our  earnin's  in  the  saloons  Sat- 
urday nights,  let's  come  here  t'  the  club,  an'  learn  how 
ter  git  on.  Save  y'r  money,  lads.  Now  who'll  give 
three  cheers  f 'r  Miss  Bright?" 

The  room  rang  with  the  cheers. 

The  festivities  were  over,  the  last  guest,  gone.  The 
officers  had  taken  their  leave,  and  the  Claytons  walked 
on  ahead,  leaving  Kenneth  Hastings  to  escort  Esther 
Bright  home. 

"It  was  a  great  success,"  he  said  enthusiastically. 

When  Esther  spoke,  there  was  an  expression  of  weari- 
ness in  her  voice. 

"Tired?"  he  asked  gently,  with  sudden  sympathy. 


104  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

" A  little." 

She  looked  so  slight,  so  fragile,  to  shoulder  a  man's 
work  in  the  world,  he  felt  a  sudden  shame  at  the  insig- 
nificance of  what  he  had  done.  He  would  stand  between 
her  and  the  world,  this  he  would  do. 

"You  gave  an  instructive  and  interesting  talk,"  she 
was  saying.  He  recalled  his  wandering  thoughts. 

After  thanking  her,  he  said  he  had  liked  Patrick's  re- 
marks about  her  being  a  magnet. 

"Patrick's  great  fun,  isn't  he?"  she  laughed. 

"Yes,  but  he  usually  hits  the  right  nail  on  the  head. 
It  is  true,  as  he  said,  you  do  draw  people  to  you.  You 
draw  me  to  you  as  no  one  has  ever  done. ' ' 

"Don't!"  she  began. 

"You  have  taught  me  to  believe  in  true  womanhood. 
I  used  to  despise  women.  I  thought  they  were  a  vain, 
frivolous  lot,  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  wrong-doing  of  the 
world." 

"Indeed!  I  understand  that  some  Englishmen  have 
very  little  respect  for  woman;  that  she  is  regarded  as 
the  inferior  of  man,  a  little  higher  in  the  scale  of  intelli- 
gence than  a  horse  or  dog. ' ' 

"How  sarcastic  we  are  to-night!"  he  said  ironically. 

"The  Englishwoman  trains  her  daughters  to  wait  on 
their  father  and  brothers." 

"How  extensive  has  your  acquaintance  been  with  the 
English?" 

"Many  American  men  grow  up  as  their  fathers  have 
done  before  them,  chivalrous  toward  the  women  of  their 
families,  and  often  chivalrous  to  women  everywhere. ' ' 

"Indeed!  A  paragon  of  animals,  the  American 
man!" 

"England  kept  her  universities  closed  to  women,  be- 
cause English  men  were  afraid  bright  English  women 


THE  GILA  CLUB  105 

would  carry  off  scholastic  honors,  if  admitted  to  the  uni- 
versities. ' ' 

*  *  What  remarkable  wisdom  you  possess  in  the  matter ! ' ' 

"I  read  the  magazines. " 

1 1  Indeed !" 

"And  the  daily  papers/'  she  added,  chuckling. 

"Kemarkable!" 

"I  read  several  English  periodicals.  I  am  interested 
in  English  politics." 

"The  deuce!" 

''The — what?"  she  asked,  with  a  suggestion  of  sup- 
pressed mirth  in  her  voice. 

"The  gentleman  with  horns." 

1 '  Ah,  yes, ' '  she  said.  * '  I  have  heard  something  of  the 
gentleman.  A  very  bad-tempered  fellow,  isn't  he? 
Have  you  known  him  long?" 

"By  George,  you  think  you're  funny,  don't  you?" 
But  by  this  time  he  laughed,  too. 

"Come  in,  Kenneth,"  called  John  Clayton,  when  they 
reached  the  veranda. 

"No,  I  thank  you,"  said  Kenneth.  "Miss  Bright  has 
been  abusing  men,  and  Englishmen  in  particular." 

"Well,"  responded  John  Clayton  laughingly,  "you 
stood  up  for  our  sex,  I  hope. ' ' 

"I  tried  to,  but  Miss  Bright  came  out  ahead.  Good- 
night, Miss  Bright.  I  hope  you'll  change  your  opinion 
of  the  Englishman,  and  that  he  will  not  always  suffer 
when  compared  with  your  pink  of  perfection,  the  Amer- 
ican man." 

When  he  had  gone  a  short  distance,  she  called  him 
back. 

"Well?"  he  said,  turning. 

"I  just  wished  to  remind  you  that  it  isn't  becoming 
to  you  to  be  grouchy. ' ' 


106  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"You  wretch  I"  And  he  turned  on  his  heel  and 
stalked  away. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Kenneth ?"  asked  John 
Clayton. 

"Oh,"  said  Esther,  indifferently,  "he  thinks  alto- 
gether too  much  of  Mr.  Kenneth  Hastings.  He  must 
learn  there  are  other  people  in  the  world  besides  K.  H. " 

"Don't  be  too  hard  on  him,"  said  her  host  warningly. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  won't.  I'll  teach  him  to  respect 
the  human  being,  irrespective  of  sex,  color  or  previous 
condition  of  servitude.  Good-night." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   COW  LASSES 

IT  was  clear  that  the  character  of  the  work  for  the 
Gila  girls  should  differ  from  that  for  the  men. 
Esther  Bright  had  thought  it  all  out,  but  she  re- 
solved to  let  the  girls  themselves  determine,  in 
large  measure,  what  it  should  be.     So  they  came 
to  visit  the  school  that  bright  December  day  to  observe. 
School!     Could  this  be  school?     Not  school  as  they 
recalled  it,  hours  of  dull  monotonous  tasks,  where  pun- 
ishment, merited  or  unmerited,  stood  out  in  conspicuous 
boldness.     As  they  now  listened,  every  moment  seemed 
to  open  the  door  to  knowledge,  and  a  wonderland  of  sur- 
prising interest  spread  before  them.     The  dull  drone  of 
the  old-time  reading  lesson  had  given  place  to  conversa- 
tional tones.     The  children  were  reading  aloud  from  a 
bright,  vivacious  story  that  caught  and  held  the  atten- 
tion of  these  untutored  girls.    To  learn  to  read  like  the 
teacher   became   the    proud    ambition    of    these   seven 
visitors. 

With  a  simple  lesson  in  physics  the  interest  deepened. 
Then  came  the  lesson  in  manual  training.  The  deft 
fingers  of  the  boys  and  girls  were  busy  learning  the  mys- 
teries of  tailoring.  How  to  darn  a  rent  in  cloth  is  no 
easy  thing  for  untrained  fingers  to  learn.  Little  fin- 
gers, big  fingers,  busily  plied  the  needle.  The  boys  were 
learning  how  to  repair  their  clothing.  The  teacher 
passed  from  one  to  another,  helping,  encouraging,  com- 
mending. She  held  up  a  beautiful  piece  of  work  for  the 
visitors  to  see. 

107 


108  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

When  the  school  was  dismissed  for  the  noon  hour, 
they  gathered  around  Esther. 

"My!"  said  one,  "I  wisht  I  knowed  as  much  as  you 
do,  schoolma'am." 

"Do  you?"  asked  the  teacher,  as  if  to  know  as  much 
as  she  did  were  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world. 

' '  You  bet  I  do  ! "  answered  the  girl. 

"Schoolma'am,"  asked  Jessie  Roth,  "do  ye  s'pose  ye 
could  learn  us  tae  read  as  good  as  them  kids  did  this 
mornin '  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes.     Even  better." 

"Better  nor  them?" 

"Indeed,  yes,  if  you  will  study  as  hard  as  they  do. 
One's  progress  depends  upon  one's  interest  and  one's 
application." 

"Oh,  we'll  study  all  right,"  said  Kate  Keith,  "if 
you'll  give  us  the  chance." 

'  *  You  bet  we  will ! ' '  said  another. 

Then  Esther  told  them  the  history  of  the  Gila  Club 
for  men,  how  it  had  begun,  how  she  had  taught  the  men, 
how  the  class  had  grown  until  it  had  seemed  impera- 
tive to  meet  in  the  schoolhouse,  and  how  they  organized 
as  a  club. 

"Did  you  learn  all  them  men  yourself?"  asked  a  girl 
just  in  from  the  range.  She  was  a  veritable  Amazon. 

"Yes,"  was  the  answer,  "until  we  began  to  meet  in 
the  schoolhouse.  Then  I  had  help." 

Esther  stood  looking  into  this  raw  girl 's  face  as  though 
she  saw  there  the  loveliest  being  on  earth.  What  the 
teacher  really  saw  there  was  an  awakening  mind  and 
soul. 

The  girl,  rough  and  uncouth  as  she  was,  admired  the 
teacher,  and  longed  to  be  like  her. 


THE  COW  LASSES  109 

1 1  What  can  we  dae  ? ' '  asked  Jessie  Roth,  eager  to  per- 
fect plans  for  study. 

"That  is  just  what  I  wish  you  girls  to  decide.  What 
would  you  like  to  do?" 

In  response  to  the  teacher 's  question,  all  of  them  spoke 
at  once. 

"One  at  a  time,  please,  one  at  a  time,"  Esther  said. 
"Suppose  we  commence  with  Jessie.  What  do  you  wish 
to  do,  Jessie?" 

"Oh,  I'd  like  tae  dae  cipherin'  an*  readin'  an'  writin'. 
I  wisht  I  could  read  like  you,  schoolma 'am ! " 

"Could  she  ever?"  questioned  Kate  Keith,  a  young 
English  girl. 

"Certainly."  She  showed  such  belief  in  them  and 
what  they  might  do  that  their  enthusiasm  rose  still 
higher.  Then  Kate  said  impulsively: 

"I  wisht  ye'd  learn  us  to  sew.  I've  been  wishin'  to 
know  how." 

She  held  up  her  big,  coarse  hands,  looked  at  them  a 
moment,  and  laughed  as  she  said: 

"I  don't  know  as  I  could  handle  such  a  little  thing 
as  a  needle." 

'  *  You  wish  to  learn  to  sew  ?     I  am  so  glad. ' ' 

This  was  just  the  turn  Esther  had  been  hoping  would 
come.  "Every  woman,"  she  continued,  "ought  to  know 
how  to  sew.  I  like  to  sew,  myself.  What  next?" 

A  comely  maid  spoke.  "My  name's  Mandy  Young. 
Me  an'  Marthy  thought  we'd  like  ter  learn  ter  write 
letters  an'—" 

Here  she  blushed  furiously. 

"That's  good,"  said  the  teacher.     "What  else?" 

"Me  an'  Marthy  wanted  ter  learn  ter  sing  like  you  do, 
schoolma  'am. ' ' 


110  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"Now,  Martha,  it  is  your  turn,"  said  the  teacher 
with  an  encouraging  smile. 

Martha  was  a  great,  brawny  specimen  of  humankind. 
"My  name's  Miss  Lieben,"  she  said. 

"Lieben!  Lieben!  That's  a  good  name.  It  means 
love"  The  cowlass  blushed  and  snickered.  "And 
Martha's  a  good  name  too.  There  was  once  a  very  care- 
ful housekeeper  named  Martha." 

"Oh,  I  ain't  no  housekeeper,"  responded  the  girl, 
"but  I  want  ter  be.  I  want  ter  learn  readin'  an'  writin', 
an'  cookin',  too." 

"Cooking!  Well!  Next?"  said  Esther,  looking  into 
the  face  of  the  next  girl. 

1  *  My  name 's  Mary  Burns. ' ' 

Mary  had  a  more  modest  way.  "I  hardly  know  what 
I  dae  want.  I  think  ye  could  plan  for  us  better  nor 
we  could  plan  for  oursels.  An'  we'd  a'  be  gratefu'." 

"Sure,"  said  one. 

"That's  right,"  added  another.  They  all  nodded 
their  heads  in  approval.  Then  up  spoke  Bridget  Flinn : 

"Shure,  an'  she's  on  the  right  thraek.  When  we 
can  do  housework,  we  can  command  a  high  wage,  an' 
git  on.  My  cousin  gits  five  dollars  a  week  in  New  York, 
an'  she  says  she  has  mere  nothin'  ter  do,  an'  dthresses 
as  good  as  her  misthress.  Oi'd  loike  ter  learn  ter  write 
letthers,  so  as  ter  wroite  ter  Pat,  an'  Oi'd  loike  ter  learn 
housekapin',  so's  I  could  go  out  ter  sarvice." 

Then  a  pretty  Mexican  girl,  with  a  soft  voice,  spoke : 

"Martha  Castello  is  my  name.  I  want  to  learn  to 
read  an'  write  an'  sing." 

The  teacher  stepped  to  the  blackboard,  and  wrote  the 
following : 

Reading  Arithmetic  Sewing 

Writing  Singing  Housekeeping 


THE  COW  LASSES  111 

The  girls  watched  her  intently. 

"An'  letthers,"  suggested  Bridget. 

"To  be  sure — letters,"  said  Esther,  writing  the  word. 

Then  followed  the  organization  of  the  girls'  club, 
resulting  in  the  election  of  Jessie  Roth  as  president.  It 
was  agreed  that  for  the  present  the  girls  should  enter 
school,  and  occasionally  meet  with  the  teacher  outside 
of  school  hours. 

That  day  proved  a  red-letter  day  for  them.  They 
had  come  in  touch  with  an  inspiring  personality,  and 
their  education  had  begun. 

Years  have  come  and  gone  since  that  day;  but  the 
people  of  Gila  still  tell  how  a  young  girl,  the  sweetest 
soul  that  ever  lived,  came  and  dwelt  among  them,  and 
brought  God  into  their  lives.  Even  the  roughest  old 
men  will  pause,  and  say  with  reverence: 

1 '  The  Angel  of  the  Gila !     God  bless  her ! " 

The  afternoon  session  of  the  school  passed  quickly. 
Then  followed  a  bit  of  kindly  talk  with  the  seven  new 
pupils.  Then  Esther  Bright  walked  homeward.  She 
was  overtaken  by  Brigham  Murphy  and  Wathemah. 
Something  mysterious  seemed  in  the  air. 

"Miss  Bright,"  blurted  out  Brigham,  "Maw  says  as 
will  yer  come  home  with  us  ter-morrer,  ter  visit.  We're 
goin'  ter  have  chicken  an'  lots  o'  good  things  ter  eat, 
ain't  we,  Wathemah?  An'  he's  comin',  too,  ain't  yer, 
Wathemah?" 

The  Indian  child  gave  an  affirmative  grunt,  and 
trudged  along  close  to  his  teacher.  It  was  a  way  he  had 
of  doing  since  she  had  promised  to  be  his  mother. 

"Will  yer  come?"  eagerly  questioned  the  representa- 
tive of  the  Mormon  household. 

"I  shall  be  happy  to  if  you  will  show  me  the  way." 

"Oh,  we'll   'scort  yer!"     And  Brigham  turned  sev- 


112  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

eral  somersaults,  and  ran  like  a  deer  along  the  road 
leading  to  the  Murphy  ranch. 

Such  a  flutter  of  excitement  as  the  prospective  visit 
brought  to  the  Murphy  household! 

"Maw,"  said  Brigham  in  the  midst  of  his  mother's 
volley  of  directions  on  household  arrangements,  "Ain't 
yer  goin'  ter  ask  schoolma'am  ter  stay  all  night?"  He 
seemed  suddenly  interested  in  social  amenities. 

"Of  course  I  be!  Landy!  Don't  yer  s'pose  y'r 
maw's  got  no  p'liteness?  I  told  schoolma'am  'bout  my 
'lations  as  lives  on  Lexity  Street,  York  City,  an'  keeps 
a  confectony,  an'  she  '11  'spect  yer  ter  be  jest  as  p'lite 
an'  'ristercratic  as  they  be.  I'll  sleep  on  the  floor,  an' 
Kate  an'  Kathleen  an'  Wathemah  kin  sleep  with  school- 
ma'am. She'll  think  it  a  great  come-down,  Pat  Murphy, 
fur  one  as  is  a  'lation,  so  ter  speak,  of  Miz  Common  of 
Lexity  Street,  York  City,  she'll  think  it's  a  great  come- 
down, I  say,  fur  one  with  sech  folks  ter  live  in  a  common 
adobe.  Y'r  not  ter  let  on  y're  Irish,  but  speak  as 
though  yer  was  French  like." 

She  had  given  emphasis  to  her  remarks  with  more 
and  more  energetic  movements  of  her  arm,  as  she  washed 
off  the  furniture.  At  last  she  paused,  and  her  husband 
ventured  a  reply. 

"Begorra!  An'  would  yez  be  afther  changin'  me 
mouth  to  the  Frinch  stoile?" 

He  sidled  toward  the  door,  and  grinned  as  he  caught 
the  reflection  of  himself  in  the  dirty  piece  of  mirror 
that  still  remained  in  the  old  black  frame  on  the  wall. 

There  was  no  denying  the  fact  that  Patrick  bore 
unmistakable  evidence  of  his  Irish  origin.  He  realized 
that  he  had  ventured  his  remarks  as  far  as  was  con- 
sistent with  peace  and  safety;  so  he  walked  from  the 
house,  chuckling  to  himself  as  he  went, 


THE  COW  LASSES  113 

"Relations  on  Lexington  Street!  Frinch  stoile! 
Begorra ! ' '  And  he  laughed  outright. 

"Patrick  Murphy/'  his  spouse  called  after  him. 
"This  is  the  first  time  a  friend  o'  my  'lations  in  York 
City  (so  ter  speak)  has  visited  me.  Patrick  Murphy, 
what  do  yer  s'pose  Josiah  Common  done  when  my  sister 
visited  there?  He  took  her  ter  a  theatre  an'  after  that 
he  took  her  ter  a  resternt,  an'  treated  her.  That's  what 
he  done!  The  least  yer  can  do  is  ter  scrub  up,  comb 
yer  har  an'  put  on  a  clean  shirt  ter-morrer.  Yer  ter 
clean  up,  do  yer  hear?"  All  this  in  a  high  treble. 

"Frinch  stoile?"  inquired  Patrick,  with  a  broaden- 
ing grin.  But  this  was  lost  upon  Mrs.  Murphy,  en- 
grossed in  plans  for  the  reception  of  the  coming  guest. 
She  smoothed  down  her  hair  with  both  hands. 

"Here,  Mandy, "  she  called  abruptly,  "wash  out 
the  tablecloth.  Sam,  you  clean  the  winders.  Jo, 
you  run  over  to  Miz  Brown's  an'  say  as  y'r  Maw's 
goin '  ter  have  comp  'ny  ter-morrer  as  must  have  knowed 
her  'lations  as  lived  on  Lexity  Street,  York  City,  an' 
kep'  a  confectony.  Tell  her  y'r  Maw  wants  a  dozen 
eggs  ter  make  a  cake  an'  custard.  Jake,  oh,  Jake!"  she 
called  in  stentorian  tones,  "you  go  ketch  them  two  set- 
tin'  hens!  The  only  way  yer  kin  break  up  a  settin' 
hen  when  yer  don't  want  her  ter  set  is  jest  to  make 
potpie  o'  her.  Y're  goin'  ter  have  a  supper  that  yer '11 
remember  ter  y'r  dyin'  day.  We  uster  have  sech  sup- 
pers at  barn  raisin's  back  East." 

The  small  boys  smacked  their  lips  in  anticipation. 
The  mother  turned  suddenly. 

"My  landy!"  she  said.     "I  forgot  somethin'." 

"What?"  inquired  Amanda. 

"A  napting!" 

1 '  A  napting  ?    What 's  that  ? ' ' 


114  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

But  Mrs.  Murphy  had  begun  on  the  floor,  and  was 
scrubbing  so  vigorously  she  did  not  hear  the  question. 

When  order  finally  evolved  from  chaos,  Mrs.  Murphy, 
with  her  hair  disheveled  and  arms  akimbo,  viewed 
the  scene.  Everything  was  so  clean  it  was  sleek, — sleek 
enough  to  ride  down  hill  on  and  never  miss  snow  or 
ice. 

"Come  'ere,  childern,"  said  Mrs.  Murphy,  mopping 
her  face  with  a  corner  of  her  apron.  "I  want  yer  to 
stan'  aroun'  the  room,  the  hull  ten  o'  yer,  all  but  the 
baby.  Mandy,  do  take  the  baby  an'  stop  her  cryin'. 
Joseph  Smith,  stan'  at  the  head,  'cause  y're  the  oldest. 
That's  the  way  I  uster  stan'  at  the  head  o'  the  spellin' 
class  when  we  uster  spell  down  'fore  I  graduated  from 
deestrict  school  back  in  York  State.  Y'r  Maw  was  a 
good  speller,  ef  I  do  say  it.  'Range  y'rselfs  in  order, 
'cordin'  to  age." 

A  tumultuous  scramble  followed.  Maternal  cuffs, 
freely  administered,  brought  a  semblance  of  order. 

1  'Now,  childern,"  said  the  mother,  in  a  hard  shrill 
voice,  "what  is  y'r  'ligion?  Speak  up,  or  yer  know 
what  yer '11  git!" 

' '  'Ligion  o '  the  Latter  Day  Saints, ' '  answered 
Samuel. 

"An*  who  is  the  Prophet  o'  the  Lord?"  continued 
Mrs.  Murphy. 

"Brigham  Young,"  answered  Amanda,  assuming  an 
air  of  conscious  superiority. 

"No,  he  isn't  neither,"  protested  Brigham,  "for 
my  teacher  said  so.  Jesus  is  the  only  prophet  o'  the 
Lord  since  Old  Testament  times." 

But  the  heretic  was  jerked  from  the  line,  to  await  later 
muscular  arguments.  Then  the  mother  continued  her 
catechism. 


THE  COW  LASSES  115 

" Who's  another  prophet  o'  the  Lord  as  has  had 
relevations?" 

"Joseph  Smith,"  responded  Kate,  timidly. 

"That's  right.  What  divine  truth  did  Joseph  Smith 
teach?" 

"That  men  should  marry  lots  o'  wives,"  said  Jake, 
realizing  that  he  had  answered  the  most  important 
question  of  the  catechism. 

"Yes,  childern,"  she  said,  with  an  air  of  great  com- 
placence, "I've  obeyed  the  prophet  o'  the  Lord.  I've  had 
five  husbands,  an'  I've  raised  ten  young  uns.  Now  what 
I  want  yer  to  understan'  is  that  yer  Maw  an'  her  chil- 
dern has  got  all  the  'ligion  as  they  wants.  Schoolma'am 
had  better  not  persume  to  talk  'ligion  to  me."  She 
drew  herself  up  as  straight  as  a  ramrod,  and  her  lips 
set  firmly. 

"But  I  wanter  show  her  I'm  uster  entertainin'.  I'll 
give  her  the  silver  spoon.  An'  I  do  wisht  I  had  a  nap- 
ting  to  put  at  her  place." 

"What's  that,  Maw?"  asked  Samuel. 

"What's  what?" 

"Why,  what  yer  want  ter  put  at  schoolma'am's 
plate?" 

"Oh,  a  little  towel,  like.  'Ristercratic  people  uses 
them  when  they  eats.  They  puts  'em  *on  their  laps. ' ' 

"Won't  a  dish  towel  do?" 

"Landy!       No!" 

"Well,  we  ain't  stylish,  anyway,"  said  Samuel,  philo- 
sophically, "an'  it's  no  use  to  worry." 

"Stylish?  We're  stylish  when  we  wants  to  be,  an' 
this  is  one  o'  them  times." 

"Is  it  stylish  ter  go  ter  Bible  school?"  asked  Brigham. 
He  seemed  greatly  puzzled. 

"No,  sir-ee,  it  ain't  stylish,  an'  you  ain't  goin'  thar," 


116  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

she  said,  giving  him  a  cuff  on  the  ear  by  way  of  em- 
phasis. 

"She?  What's  she  know  'bout  my  'ligion  or  y'r 
'ligion?  She  ain't  had  no  relevations.  But  git  off  to 
bed,  the  huU  lot  o'  yer." 

"It's  only  eight  o'clock,"  said  one,  sullenly,  dragging 
his  feet. 

"Well,  I  don't  care.  The  house  is  all  red  up,  an' 
I  wants  it  to  stay  red  up  till  schoolma'am  comes.  Be- 
sides, y're  all  clean  yerselfs  now,  an'  yer  won't  have  to 
wash  an'  comb  to-morrer." 

At  last  they  were  driven  off  to  bed,  and  gradually 
they  quieted  down,  and  all  were  asleep  in  the  little 
adobe  house. 

But  Brigham  tossed  in  terrifying  dreams.  The  scene 
shifted.  He  was  with  Wathemah,  who  was  telling  him 
of  Jesus.  Then  the  teacher's  life  was  in  danger  and  he 
tried  to  save  her.  He  felt  her  hand  upon  his  head;  a 
smile  flitted  across  his  face,  his  muscles  relaxed;  he  was 
in  heaven ;  the  streets  were  like  sunset  skies.  The  teacher 
took  him  by  the  hand  and  led  him  to  the  loveliest  Being 
he  had  ever  beheld,  who  gathered  him  in  His  arms,  and 
said,  '  *  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  Me. ' ' 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  VISIT   AT   MURPHY   RANCH 

THE  hour  hand  of  the  clock  was  on  three. 
Twenty  pairs  of  restless  eyes  watched  the 
minute  hand  as  it  drew  close,  very  close  to 
twelve.  The  books  had  been  placed  in  the 
desks;  there  was  a  hush  of  attention.  The 
children  sang  ' '  America, ' '  saluted  the  flag,  and  marched 
out  of  the  room.  As  "Wathemah  returned  to  visit  with 
his  teacher,  she  asked  him  what  he  had  learned  that 
day. 

"Country  love!"  answered  the  child.  As  he  spoke, 
he  stepped  to  the  flag,  that  hung  from  the  staff  in  grace- 
ful folds,  and  caressed  it. 

"Oh,  Miss  Bright,  Miss  Bright!"  shouted  James 
Burns.  "Brigham's  come  fur  yer!  He's  brung  his 
horse  fur  yer  ter  ride!  Golly!  But  he  looks  fine! 
Come  see!" 

And  James  led  the  way  to  Brigham  and  the  horse. 
Sure  enough !  There  they  were.  The  little  lad,  radiant 
with  pride,  the  huge  bay  horse,  lean  and  gaunt  and 
hairy,  bedight  as  never  was  horse  before.  He  seemed 
conscious  that  this  was  a  gala  day,  and  that  it  behooved 
him  to  deport  himself  as  became  a  respectable  family 
horse. 

Numerous  small  bouquets,  tied  to  white  muslin  strings, 
adorned  his  bridle.  The  animal  was  guiltless  of  saddle, 
but  there  was  an  improvised  cinch  of  white  cotton  cloth 
around  him.  This,  likewise,  was  adorned  with  butter- 
fly-like bouquets. 

117 


118  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

1 '  Ain  't  he  some  ? ' '  said  one  lad,  admiringly. 

"Gee!  but  I'd  like  ter  ride  him!"  shouted  another. 

"Brigham  dressed  old  Jim  up  just  'cause  yer  wuz 
goin'  ter  ride  him,  Miss  Bright,"  said  Donald. 

To  the  last  remark,  the  teacher  replied: 

"  Hide  him?  I  never  rode  bareback  in  my  life.  I 
am  afraid  to  try  it.  I  might  slip  off." 

"Oh,  no,  yer  won't,"  said  Brigham,  who  stood  hold- 
ing the  horse's  bridle.  The  teacher  pretended  to  be 
greatly  scared.  The  company  grew  hilarious. 

"Brigham,"  she  said,  "I  am  sure  I  can't  stick  on. 
I  might  go  sliding  over  the  horse's  head  and  land  in  a 
heap.  Then  what  would  you  do?" 

"Pick  yer  up." 

This  reply  increased  the  hilarity. 

Donald  seemed  to  think  it  would  be  great  sport  to  see 
the  teacher's  maiden  effort  at  riding  bareback. 

"Jest  git  on,  Miss  Bright,  an'  see  how  easy  'tis," 
he  urged. 

"I  don't  know  how  to  mount,"  she  hastened  to  say. 
"I  haven't  learned  even  that  much." 

"Oh,  that's  easy  enough,"  said  a  muscular  little 
chap.  "I'll  show  yer." 

And  he  leaped  like  a  squirrel  to  the  horse's  back. 

"Oh,  I  could  never  do  that,"  said  Esther,  joining 
in  the  laughter  of  the  children. 

"I'll  tell  yer  what,"  said  a  large  Scotch  boy,  "ye 
wait  a  bit,  Miss  Bright,  an'  I'll  bring  ye  y'r  chair,  an' 
then  'twill  be  easy  enough." 

So  the  chair  was  brought,  and  the  teacher  seated  her- 
self on  the  horse 's  back,  sideways. 

"Oh,  ye  must  ride  straddles,"  insisted  Donald,  "or 
ye '11  sure  fall  off." 

"Yes,  straddles,"  echoed  another;  but  Esther  shook 


THE  VISIT  AT  MURPHY  RANCH          119 

her  head  dubiously,  and  pointed  to  her  full  blue  flannel 
walking  skirt. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  the  tallest  boy,  "every- 
body rides  straddles  here." 

"Try  it,"  urged  Brigham. 

So  she  tried  it.  But  she  was  not  the  only  passenger 
who  rode  astride.  Michael  and  Patrick,  the  little 
Murphy  twins,  were  helped  to  a  place  behind  her. 
"Wathemah  then  climbed  up  in  front  of  her. 

"Is  this  all?"  she  asked,  laughingly. 

"I  should  think  it  was  enough,"  said  Kenneth  Hast- 
ings, who  at  that  moment  joined  the  company. 

As  he  caught  Esther's  eye,  both  laughed,  and  the 
children  joined  from  pure  sympathy. 

When  she  recovered  her  composure,  Esther  said  to 
Kenneth, 

"Nothing  lacking  but  some  white  muslin  harness  and 
posies  on  me." 

At  last,  amid  shouts  and  cheers,  the  much-bedecked 
horse  and  his  human  load  started  up  the  mountain 
road. 

By  three  o'clock,  the  pulse  of  the  Murphy  house- 
hold beat  faster.  The  temperature  rose  to  fever  heat. 
Three-fifteen,  three-thirty;  still  no  visitors;  and  what 
is  more,  no  signs  of  visitors.  Every  five  minutes,  one 
of  the  children  would  run  down  the  mountain  road,  and 
return  disappointed. 

"Do  yer  s'pose  they  ain't  comin'?"  queried  Kate, 
who  had  been  kept  at  home  that  day  to  assist  in  the 
preparations. 

"Oh,  yes,  they're  comin',  I  think  likely,"  answered 
the  hostess;  "but  I  don't  see  where  they're  keepin' 
theirselves. ' ' 

She  frequently  straightened  the  chairs;   once  more 


120  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

she  dusted  the  furniture  with  her  clean  apron;  she 
straightened  the  pictures  on  the  walls;  she  brought  out 
an  old  and  much-prized  album,  sacred  to  Mormon 
prophets  and  elders.  The  broken  mirror,  that  adorned 
the  wall,  had  been  cleaned  and  decorated  with  tissue 
paper.  Mrs.  Murphy  stood  and  looked  in  it.  She  saw 
reflected  a  sharp,  severe  face  shining  like  the  mirror. 

"I  wisht  I  had  a  collar,"  she  said.  "I  uster  wear 
a  collar  back  in  York  State. ' ' 

Suddenly,  she  heard  a  shout  from  the  road. 

' '  They  're  comin ' !  They  're  comin ' !  Schoolma  'am 's 
with  'em!  Quick,  Maw,  quick!" 

There  was  a  rush  down  the  path,  Joseph  Smith  lead- 
ing the  line. 

All  was  expectation.  The  approaching  horse  started 
into  a  jolting  trot.  As  he  neared  the  barn  he  began 
to  buck.  The  inevitable  followed.  Over  the  horse's 
head  went  the  passengers  in  a  heap.  The  twins  quickly 
extricated  themselves,  and  sprang  up  uninjured;  but 
the  two  visitors  lay  unconscious. 

" Quick,  Samuel,  bring  water!"  directed  Mrs.  Murphy. 

In  a  few  minutes,  she  dashed  water  in  the  unconscious 
faces,  and  watched  anxiously.  The  water  soon  restored 
Esther,  who  had  been  stunned  by  the  fall.  At  last 
Wathemah  opened  his  eyes,  and  saw  his  teacher  kneel- 
ing by  his  side.  He  tried  to  rise,  but  fell  back  with  a 
cry  of  pain.  One  arm  lay  limp  by  his  side.  It  was 
evident  that  his  arm  was  broken. 

"Is  there  a  surgeon  anywhere  near  Gila?"  she  asked 
anxiously. 

"There's  one  about  fifteen  miles  away,"  responded 
Joseph. 

"Then  I'll  try  to  set  Wathemah 's  arm  myself.  Sev- 
eral times  I  have  helped  my  uncle  set  broken  bones. 


THE  VISIT  AT  MUEPHY  RANCH          121 

Could  you  bring  me  some  flat  splints  about  this  size?" 
she  asked,  showing  Joseph  what  she  wanted. 

"Yes,  mum,"  answered  the  boy,  starting  on  his  errand. 

"And  some  strips  of  muslin,  and  some  pins,  Mrs. 
Murphy?"  she  continued. 

In  a  few  moments  the  articles  were  ready.  By  this 
time  Wathemah  had  recovered  consciousness. 

' '  You  have  broken  your  arm,  dear, ' '  she  said.  ' '  I  am 
going  to  set  it.  It'll  hurt  you,  but  I  want  you  to  be 
brave  and  keep  very  still." 

The  child  smiled  faintly.  But  as  she  lifted  his  arm, 
he  again  fainted.  They  lifted  him,  and  carried  him  into 
the  house.  Then  firmly,  deftly,  as  though  experienced 
in  such  work,  Esther  pulled  and  pressed  the  broken 
bone  into  place.  The  child  roused  with  the  pain,  but 
did  not  cry  out  again.  At  last  the  arm  was  bandaged, 
and  placed  on  a  cushion. 

'  *  You  must  be  very  careful  of  your  arm,  Wathemah, ' ' 
she  said,  patting  his  cheek,  "until  the  broken  bone 
grows  together." 

Before  the  child  could  speak,  there  was  a  knock  at 
the  door.  The  children  rushed  to  open  it,  and  there 
stood  Kenneth  Hastings. 

"I  came  to  see  if  the  cavalcade  reached  here  safely," 
he  said,  smiling.  "I  followed  a  short  distance  behind 
you,  until — " 

Here  his  comprehending  glance  grasped  the  situation. 

"Wathemah  hurt?"  he  asked  in  quick  sympathy, 
striding  to  the  child's  side.  "I  feared  something  might 
happen." 

"Old  Jim  threw  'em,"  explained  three  or  four  eager 
voices. 

Kenneth  looked  inquiringly  at  Esther. 

"Were  you  hurt,  too?"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 


122  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"I  think  not/*  she  said,  looking  intently  at  Wathe- 
mah. 

"I  believe  you  were.  "Was  she?"  he  asked,  turning 
to  Mrs.  Murphy. 

''She  were  stunned  like  from  the  fall,  but  was  so 
busy  settin'  the  boy's  arm,  she  didn't  think  of  herself." 

"Ah."  Then  turning  to  Esther  again,  he  questioned 
her. 

The  family  observed  every  tone  in  the  questions  and 
answers. 

During  the  setting  of  the  arm,  they  had  watched 
Esther  with  open-mouthed  astonishment. 

"I  tell  yer,  schoolma'am,"  remarked  Joseph,  "I  bet 
yer  life  yer '11  hev  all  yer  kin  do  in  Gila,  now." 

"I  should  think  she  already  had  enough  to  do,"  sug- 
gested Kenneth. 

Here  Mrs.  Murphy,  suddenly  realizing  that  certain 
amenities  had  been  omitted,  blurted  out: 

' '  This  is  my  son,  Joseph  Young ;  my  daughter,  Mandy 
Young  you've  knowed  already;  my  son  Samuel  Young, 
my  son  Jacob  Black,  yer've  knowed  at  school,  'n'  my 
daughter  Kate  Black,  'n'  Brigham  Murphy,  aged  six, 
'n'  Kathleen,  aged  four,  'n'  Nora,  aged  two." 

Mrs.  Murphy  paused.     Samuel  at  once  took  the  floor. 

"We've  knowed  you  ever  sence  you  come.  They  call 
you  the  angel  o'  the  Gila."  He  seemed  to  swell  with 
importance. 

"A  queer  name,  isn't  it?"  said  Esther. 

Samuel  had  combed  his  hair,  and  wore  a  clean  shirt 
in  honor  of  the  occasion. 

"Miss  Bright,"  said  Kenneth,  "I  am  fearful  lest 
you  have  been  injured  by  the  fall.  Let  me  take  you 
home." 

This  she  would  not  listen  to. 


THE  VISIT  AT  MURPHY  RANCH          123 

"Then  let  me  call  for  you  later  in  the  evening  and 
take  you  back  with  me.  There  may  be  something  Mrs. 
Clayton  can  do  for  you."  But  there  was  a  chorus  of 
protests. 

Mrs.  Murphy  gave  it  as  her  opinion  that  the  school- 
ma'am  knew  her  own  feelin's  best;  and  it  wasn't  often 
they  had  comp'ny,  goodness  knows,  especially  com- 
p'ny from  back  East.  And  Mr.  Hastings  should  leave 
her  be. 

Esther  poured  oil  on  the  troubled  waters;  and  Mrs. 
Murphy  became  so  mollified  she  pressed  Kenneth  to 
stay  to  supper. 

At  this  juncture  Patrick  Senior's  step  was  heard. 

"Good  avenin',"  he  said,  heartily,  making  a  queer 
little  bow.  "It's  proud  I  am  ter  welcome  yez  ter  me 
home. ' ' 

He  did  not  take  off  his  hat  nor  remove  the  pipe  from 
his  mouth.  Esther  rose. 

"Kape  y'r  sate,  Miss,  kape  y'r  sate,"  he  said,  making 
a  sweeping  gesture.  Then  he  gripped  her  hand. 

"An'  Mr.  Hastings!  It's  honored  Oi  am  ter  have 
yez  enter  me  humble  home." 

"He's  goin'  to  stay  to  supper,  Pop,"  said  one  of  the 
little  boys. 

Kenneth  hastened  to  excuse  himself,  but  Patrick 
would  have  none  of  it.  Mr.  Hastings  must  stay,  and 
share  the  fatted  calf. 

Kenneth  laughed. 

"Which  is  the  prodigal?"  asked  he,  smiling  towards 
Esther. 

"The  prodigal?  the  prodigal?"  repeated  Mrs.  Mur- 
phy mystified,  and  half  resentful  at  Kenneth's  smiles. 

"Oh,  that's  a  Bible  story,  Mrs.  Murphy,"  explained 
Esther.  "A  rich  man  had  two  sons.  One  son  spent  all 


124  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

he  had  in  riotous  living.  When  he  finally  repented  and 
came  back  home  to  his  father's  house,  they  were  very 
happy  to  see  him  and  made  a  great  feast  for  him.  For 
this  purpose  they  killed  their  fatted  calf." 

"I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Murphy  with  great  dignity.  "An* 
sence  we  are  happy  to  see  yer  and  have  killed  our  fatted 
hens  fur  yer,  we'll  just  call  yer  the  Prodigal." 

"I  always  knew  you  were  prodigal  of  your  strength 
and  talent,"  Kenneth  said  merrily.  " Prodigal.  That's 
a  good  name  for  you.  That  was  a  happy  thought  of 
yours,  Mrs.  Murphy." 

Mrs.  Murphy  still  looked  mystified. 

"Oi  see  me  little  girrls  are  plazed  ter  see  yez,"  said 
Patrick,  beaming  proudly  upon  the  little  ones.  Kath- 
leen held  up  for  his  inspection  some  paper  dolls  Esther 
had  brought  her.  Then  the  smile  on  his  face  broad- 
ened. He  laid  his  pipe  on  the  shelf  and  examined  the 
dolls  critically. 

"Did  yez  iver  see  the  loike  on  it,  now?  Shure,  an' 
did  yez  say  'Thank  yez'  ter  the  lady?" 

"Yep,"  answered  Kathleen,  and  "Yep"  echoed  Nora. 

"An'  phwat  is  the  matther  wid  Wathemah?"  asked 
Patrick,  as  he  approached  the  little  Indian. 

"Got  hurted." 

"Broked  his  arm." 

"Fell  off  old  Jim." 

"Miss  Bright  mended  his  arm,"  came  in  quick  suc- 
cession. 

"Poor  little  lad.     Oi'm  sorry  yez  got  hurted." 

And  the  kind-hearted  man  patted  the  child  on  the 
head.  He  liked  Wathemah.  But  the  little  visitor  was 
intent  on  the  two  little  girls  and  their  gay  paper  dolls. 

Esther  now  expressed  a  wish  to  hear  some  of  her 
host's  stories  of  pioneer  life  in  Arizona. 


THE  VISIT  AT  MURPHY  KANCH          125 

Patrick  drew  himself  up.  He  felt  his  self-respect 
rising. 

"Them  wuz  awful  toimes,"  he  said,  puffing  away 
at  his  pipe  again;  "but  Oi  wuz  young  an'  sthrong. 
The  Apaches  wuz  on  the  warpath  most  av  the  toime, 
an'  we  fellers  didn't  know  but  we'd  be  kilt  ony  minute. 
"We  slipt  wid  wan  oi  open,  an '  our  guns  by  our  soides. ' ' 

"It  must  have  been  very  exciting,"  said  Esther,  with 
marked  interest. 

"It  certain  wuz  exciting.  It  wuz  bad,  too,  ter  come 
back  ter  y'r  shack  an'  foind  y'r  rations  gone,  or  no 
shack  at  all." 

"What  would  you  do  then?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  we  wint  hungry  till  we  caught  fish,  or  shot 
deer." 

Here  he  lighted  his  pipe  again,  and  drew  long  whiffs. 

"What  were  you  doing  in  those  days?"  questioned 
Kenneth. 

' '  Me  business  wuz  always  wid  cattle.  Sometoimes  the 
Apaches  would  go  off  wid  some  o'  me  cattle." 

"Did  you  ever  get  them  back?"  asked  Esther. 

"Sometoimes."     He  smoked  in  silence  a  few  minutes. 

"I  understand  the  Apaches  are  still  treacherous," 
she  said. 

Just  then  she  felt  Wathemah's  hand  on  her  arm. 

"Wathemah  Apache,"  he  said.  "He  no  bad.  He 
good." 

"Yes,"  she  acknowledged,  smiling,  "you  are  getting 
to  be  a  pretty  good  boy,  dear."  Her  smile  did  more 
for  the  child  than  did  the  words. 

"Pop,"  said  Samuel,  "them  air  Apaches  we  seen  up 
canyon  t'other  day's  ben  skulkin'  aroun'.  Yer'd  better 
carry  a  gun,  schoolma'am." 

Supper  was  now  announced,  and  discussion  of  the 


126  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

Indians  ceased.  The  younger  children,  joyfully  antici- 
pating the  feast  before  them,  had  forgotten  all  their 
mother's  preliminary  instructions  on  etiquette  at  table, 
and  there  was  a  tumultuous  scramble. 

"Murphy!"  called  Mrs.  Murphy  in  stentorian  tones 
as  she  stood  with  arms  akimbo,  "seat  schoolma'am  at 
y'r  right!" 

With  a  smile  that  would  have  done  credit  to  the 
proudest  son  of  Erin,  Patrick  waved  his  hand  toward 
the  place  of  honor.  Patrick  Junior  and  his  twin  Mich- 
ael insisted  upon  sitting  in  the  same  seat  by  their  visitor. 
What  is  more,  Michael  dealt  his  brother  a  severe  blow 
in  the  mouth  to  settle  his  superior  claims.  To  add  to 
the  clamor,  Kathleen  pressed  her  right  to  the  same  seat. 
She  screamed  lustily. 

Mrs.  Murphy,  family  representative  of  law,  started 
towards  the  disturbers  of  the  peace.  They  dodged. 
The  teacher  hereupon  made  a  suggestion  that  seemed 
to  satisfy  everyone,  and  so  the  matter  was  settled. 

"Set  right  down,  Mr.  Hastings,  set  right  down," 
urged  Mrs.  Murphy.  He  seated  himself  at  Patrick 
Senior's  left.  They  were  scarcely  seated  before  Mich- 
ael exclaimed, 

"Ain't  we  got  a  good  supper!" 

He  sprawled  on  the  table,  looking  longingly  at  the  huge 
dish  of  chicken  potpie. 

"One'd  think  yer  never  had  nothin'  ter  eat,"  ob- 
served Samuel.  He  seemed  to  think  it  devolved  upon 
him  to  preserve  the  decorum  of  the  family. 

While  the  children  were  waiting  impatiently  for  their 
turns,  a  nudge  started  at  Mrs.  Murphy's  right  and  left. 
Nine  pairs  of  elbows  were  resting  upon  the  table.  Nine 
pairs  of  eyes  were  fixed  longingly  upon  the  platter  of 
chicken.  Suddenly,  as  the  parental  nudge  passed  along, 


THE  VISIT  AT  MURPHY  KANCH          127 

nine  pairs  of  elbows  moved  off  the  table,  and  nine  fig- 
ures sat  erect. 

The  family  had  been  instructed  to  observe  the  teach- 
er's manners  at  table,  "fur,"  observed  Mrs.  Murphy, 
"there  is  no  better  way  fur  yer  to  learn  eatin'  man- 
ners than  to  notice  how  folks  does.  Ef  she  sets  up 
straight-like,  yer  kin  do  the  same.  Jest  watch  her. 
Ef  she  takes  her  chicken  bone  in  her  hand,  y '  kin ;  but 
ef  she  cuts  her  chicken  off,  why,  y'  cut  yourn  off." 

Finally,  all  were  served.  In  the  preparation  for  the 
reception  of  the  teacher,  the  offspring  of  Mrs.  Murphy 
had  been  duly  instructed  by  her  to  hold  each  little 
finger  out  stiff  and  straight  while  manipulating  the 
knife  and  fork.  To  the  dismay  of  all,  Esther  did  not 
take  her  chicken  bone  in  her  hand,  nor  did  she  hold 
her  knife  and  fork  perpendicular,  nor  did  she  hold  her 
little  fingers  out  at  a  right  angle. 

The  children  struggled  with  their  refractory  chicken 
bones,  as  they  watched  the  teacher.  Patrick  Murphy's 
eyes  were  twinkling.  But  at  this  juncture,  a  nudge 
from  Mrs.  Murphy  again  passed  around  the  table. 
Nine  pairs  of  eyes  were  upon  the  knife  and  fork  of  the 
guest.  Amanda  was  filled  with  admiration  as  she  ob- 
served Esther  Bright. 

In  talking  this  over  afterwards,  Samuel  said  to  his 
sister : 

"Schoolma'am  wuz  brung  up  better  nor  we  be.  Yer 
kin  see  it  by  the  way  she  eats.  Did  yer  see  how  dainty- 
like  she  held  her  knife  and  fork?" 

"Yer  don't  know  nuthin'  about  it,  Sam,"  said  Mandy. 
"I  guess  I  seen  her  myself." 

Just  as  the  last  nudge  passed  around,  Patrick  laughed 
outright. 

"Begorra  childthren,"  he  said,  "is  it  Frinch  stoile 


128  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

ter  eat  wid  y'r  fingers  sthuck  out?     Phwat  ails  yez?" 

"Pat  Murphy,"  said  his  wife,  "yer  never  seen  good 
eatin'  manners  in  y'r  life.  I  hev.  Back  in  York  State 
where  I  wuz  riz,  the  very  best  people  in  the  country 
come  to  them  barn  raisin's." 

Her  sharp  chin  tilted  upward;  her  black  eyes  grew 
brighter. 

"Where  I  growed  up,  folks  set  great  store  by  p 'lite- 
ness.  They  allus  had  clean  plates  fur  pie  when  they 
wuz  comp'ny.  Yes,  Pat  Murphy,  I  wuz  well  trained, 
ef  I  do  say  it." 

The  visitors  remained  silent.     Patrick  grinned. 

When  the  teacher's  cup  was  again  filled  with  tea,  she 
stirred  it  longer  than  usual,  thinking,  possibly,  how  she 
could  pour  oil  on  troubled  waters.  Instantly,  around 
the  table  nine  other  spoons  were  describing  circles  in 
the  bottom  of  each  cup.  Again  Patrick's  eyes  laughed. 
Mrs.  Murphy  glowered. 

The  supper  over,  and  all  housewife  duties  of  the  day 
performed,  Mrs.  Murphy  turned  to  her  offspring,  stand- 
ing in  line, — at  her  suggestion, — on  one  side  of  the  room. 

"Schoolma'am,"  she,  said  with  an  air  of  conscious 
superiority,  "the  childern  told  me  yer  wanted  'em  to 
go  to  Bible  school.  Now  me  an'  my  childern  has  all 
the  'ligion  as  we  wants.  I'll  show  yer." 

"Childern,  what  is  y'r  'ligion?" 

"Latter  Day  Saints,"  answered  Joseph. 

"An'  who  is  the  prophet  o'  the  Lord?" 

"Joseph  Smith,"  piped  Kate. 

"An'  what  wuz  his  relevations ? " 

"That  men  should  marry  lots  o'  wives,  an  raise  lots 
o'  childern,"  answered  Jacob. 

"Shure,    an'    did   he   have    rivelations   that    women 


THE  VISIT  AT  MURPHY  RANCH          129 

should  be  marryin'  lots  o'  husbands?"  asked  Mr.  Mur- 
phy with  a  chuckle. 

This  was  an  interruption  Mrs.  Murphy  could  ill 
brook.  She  was  on  the  warpath;  but  Patrick,  the  good- 
natured,  now  took  matters  in  his  own  hands,  and  spoke 
with  firmness. 

"We'll  have  no  more  Mormon  talk  ter-night.  Child- 
thren,  set  down." 

They  sat  down.  Mrs.  Murphy's  mouth  shut  like  a 
spring  trap.  She  was  humiliated;  she,  a  connection,  so 
to  speak,  of  the  Commonses  of  "Lexity  Street,  York 
City!" 

"Whin  me  woman  there,"  said  Patrick,  "was  lift  wid 
two  babies,  Jacob  an'  Kate,  twelve  year  ago,  lift  'way 
off  in  a  lonesome  place  in  Utah  by  her  Mormon  husband, 
Oi  felt  as  though  Oi  would  loike  ter  go  wid  some  dacint 
man,  an'  give  this  Mormon  who  lift  his  wife  an'  babies 
fur  the  sake  of  goin'  off  wid  another  woman, — Oi  repate 
it, — Oi'd  'a  ben  glad  ter  have  give  'im  sich  a  batin'  as 
he'd  remimber  ter  his  dyin'  day.  He  wuz  kilt  by  the 
Indians.  Whin  Oi  heerd  he  wuz  kilt,  an'  knowed  fur 
shure  he  wuz  dead,  Oi  persuaded  me  woman  here  ter 
marry  me,  an*  ter  come  let  me  give  her  an'  all  her  child- 
thren  a  dacint  home  in  Arizony. 

"Oi  don't  want  ter  hear  no  more  about  Mormons.  Oi 
know  'em  root  an'  branch.  Oi  am  a  Catholic.  Oi  be- 
lave  in  the  Holy  Mither.  Oi  belave  in  good  women.  Oi 
belave  as  a  man  should  have  wan  wife,  a  wife  wan  hus- 
band. Oi  wants  me  childthren  an'  me  woman's  child- 
thren  too,  ter  come  ter  y'r  Bible  school.  What's  more, 
they  shall  come.  Oi  wants  'em  ter  learn  about  God  an' 
the  Blissed  Virgin.  Y  're  a  good  woman ;  that  Oi  know. 
An'  yez  are  as  good  a  Catholic  as  Oi  want  ter  see.  Yer 


130  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

kin  jist  count  on  me  fur  support  in  all  the  good  yez  are 
thryin '  ter  do  in  Gila. ' ' 

Mrs.  Murphy's  face  was  suppressed  fury. 

The  teacher  spoke  in  a  low,  gentle  voice : 

"So  you  are  a  Catholic,  Mr.  Murphy.  Do  you  know, 
I  have  always  admired  the  reverent  way  Catholics  speak 
of  the  mother  of  Jesus.'* 

Then  she  turned  to  Mrs.  Murphy,  saying : 

"I  know  but  little  about  the  belief  of  the  Mormons. 
Some  day  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  about  it." 

"Mormons  are  a  good  sight  better 'n  Catholics," 
snapped  Mrs.  Murphy.  '  *  Intelligent  people  should  know 
about  'em,  and  what  they've  done  fur  the  world.  They 
are  honest,  they  don 't  smoke,  nor  chew,  nor  drink.  They 
are  good  moral  people,  they  are." 

"Yes,"  said  Esther,  "I  have  heard  some  admirable 
things  about  them." 

Kenneth  rose  to  go. 

' '  So  you  '11  not  return  to  Clayton  Ranch  with  me,  Miss 
Bright." 

He  knew  by  the  expression  of  her  face  that  she  pre- 
ferred to  go  rather  than  to  stay.  But  she  spoke  gra- 
ciously : 

1 1 1  have  not  finished  my  visit  yet. ' ' 

In  a  moment  more  Kenneth  was  gone. 

Then  a  new  difficulty  arose.  Who  was  to  sleep  with 
the  teacher?  Kate,  the  twins,  and  Kathleen,  all  pressed 
their  claims.  After  listening  to  the  altercation,  Esther 
suggested  that  it  would  be  necessary  for  her  to  occupy 
the  Crocking  chair  by  Wathemah,  to  see  that  he  did  not 
injure  his  broken  arm,  and  asked  that  she  be  given  the 
privilege  of  watching  by  him  throughout  the  night. 

Then  the  family  withdrew.  Soon  Esther  pretended 
to  be  asleep.  Occasionally  the  child  reached  out  and 


THE  VISIT  AT  MURPHY  EANCH          131 

touched  her  arm  to  make  sure  his  Beloved  was  there. 
Then  he  fell  asleep. 

But  Esther  was  wakeful.  "Why  had  Kenneth  come 
for  her?  Was  she  coming  to  care  too  much  for  him? 
How  would  it  all  end  ?  When  she  at  last  fell  asleep,  her 
dreams  were  troubled. 


CHAPTER  X 

CARLA   EARLE 

SCHOOL  had  been  dismissed,  and  the  shadows 
had  begun  to  lengthen  in  the  valley.     Esther 
Bright  sat  in  the  doorway  of  the  schoolhouse, 
leaning    against   the   jamb    of    the    door,    her 
hands  resting  idly  in  her  lap.     At  last  she 
lifted  a  letter  she  held,  and  read  over  again  the  closing 
words,  "Thy  devoted  grandfather,  David  Bright." 

She  brushed  her  hand  across  her  cheek  more  than 
once,  as  she  sat  there,  looking  off,  miles  away,  to  her 
New  England  home.  She  heard  a  step,  and  turning, 
saw  Carla  Earle  approaching.  Before  she  could  rise, 
Carla  was  at  her  side,  half  shy,  uncertain  of  herself. 
Without  the  usual  preliminary  of  greeting,  Carla  said: 
"Are  you  homesick?" 

She  had  seen  Esther  wipe  tears  from  her  cheeks. 
"A  little.     I  was  thinking  of  my  grandfather,  and 
how  I'd  love  to  see  him.     I  am  always  homesick  when 
his  letters  come.     One  came  to-day." 

"I  am  homesick,  too,"  said  Carla,  "for  my  native 
land,  its  green  turf,  its  stately  trees,  the  hedges,  the  cot- 
tages, the  gardens,  the  flowers  and  birds — and — every- 
thing!" 

"Sit  down,  Carla.  Let's  talk.  You  are  homesick 
for  your  native  land,  and  I  am  homesick  for  my  grand- 
father." 

She  took  one  of  the  English  girl's  hands  in  hers,  and 
they  talked  long  of  England.  At  last  Carla  asked  Es- 

139 


CARLA  EARLE  133 

ther  to  sing  for  her.  For  answer,  Esther  rose,  entered 
the  schoolroom,  and  returned,  bringing  her  guitar.  Then 
striking  the  chords  of  C  Major,  she  sang  softly,  "Home, 
Sweet  Home. "  As  she  sang,  Carla  watched  her  through 
tears. 

"An  exile  from  home,"  the  teacher  sang;  but  at  that 
moment  she  heard  a  sob.  She  stopped  singing. 

"Go  on,  please,"  begged  the  English  girl. 

Again  the  cords  vibrated  to  the  touch  of  Esther's  fin- 
gers, and  she  sang  the  song  that  has  comforted  many  a 
sorrowing  heart. 

"There  were  ninety  and  nine  that  safely  lay 

In  the  shelter  of  the  fold; 
But  one  was  out  on  the  hills  away, 

Far  off  from  the  gates  of  gold." 

On  she  sang,  her  voice  growing  more  pitifully  tender. 

"But  none  of  the  ransomed  ever  knew 

How  deep  were  the  waters  crossed; 
Nor  how  dark  the  night  that  the  Lord  passed  through, 

Ere  He  found  His  sheep  that  was  lost. 
Out  in  the  darkness  He  heard  its  cry, — 

Sick  and  helpless  and  ready  to  die." 

Then  as  she  sang, 

"And  the  angels  echoed  around  the  throne, 
'Rejoice,  for  the  Lord  brings  back  His  own ! ' " 

her  voice  thrilled  with  triumphant  hope. 

"Was  she  inspired,  or  was  it  simply  that  she  was  about 
her  Master's  business?  Her  voice  seemed  a  message 
from  God  to  the  stricken  girl  who  listened.  Carla,  look- 
ing into  the  face  of  Esther  Bright,  saw  there  a  smile 


134  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

that  was  ineffably  sweet;  saw,  too,  the  golden  light  of 
the  setting  sun  playing  about  her  face  and  form. 

Song  after  song  was  sung  from  one  heart  to  the  other. 
The  guitar  was  laid  aside.  Then  hand  in  hand,  the  two 
girls  sat  talking  till  the  sunset  faded,  talking  through 
falling  tears,  talking  of  ideals  of  life,  and  of  how  sweet 
and  good  life  may  be.  Then  Esther  told  of  the  Blessed 
One  of  Galilee  whose  love  and  compassion  never  fail. 
And  at  last  Carla  told  her  her  whole  sad  story. 

"But  you  will  leave  the  saloon,  Carla,  won't  you? 
You  will  throw  off  Mr.  Clifton 's  influence  ? ' '  Esther  said 
as  they  rose  to  go.  "I  can  give  you  shelter  until  I  can 
find  a  home  for  you,  only  leave  that  dreadful  place." 

"I  can't;  I  love  him,"  she  answered.  Then,  covering 
her  face  with  her  hands,  she  wept  bitterly. 

"You  can  leave  him,  I  know,  and  you  will  in  time. 
Come  often  to  see  me,  as  you  have  done  to-day.  Per- 
haps you  and  I  together,  with  God's  help,  can  find  a 
way." 

They  parted  at  the  schoolhouse,  Esther  returning 
home,  her  heart  sorrowful.  She  thought  of  One  who 
centuries  before  had  sought  the  mountains  alone,  the 
sorrow  of  a  world  upon  His  heart.  She  understood  it 
now,  understood  at  least  something  of  the  agony  of  that 
sorrow.  She  went  to  her  room  and  prayed.  When  at 
last  she  rose  from  her  knees,  her  face  looked  drawn.  The 
feeling  as  of  a  heavy  weight  upon  her  heart  increased. 
How  helpless  she  seemed ! 

She  opened  her  window  wider,  and  looked  up  into  the 
fathomless  blue.  An  overwhelming  desire  to  save  the 
tempted  English  girl  had  taken  possession  of  her.  What 
should  she  do? 

As  she  stood  thus,  she  seemed  conscious  of  a  presence, 
and  turned  as  though  expecting  to  see  some  one ;  but  no 


CARLA  EAELE  135 

one  was  there.  She  heard  no  voice.  Notwithstanding 
the  evidence  of  her  eyes,  she  could  not  shake  off  the  feel- 
ing of  another  presence  than  her  own.  She  turned  again 
toward  the  window,  and  looked  out  into  the  crystal 
deeps.  Then  a  strange  peace  came  upon  her.  It  seemed 
a  foretaste  of  heaven.  She  threw  herself  on  the  lounge 
in  her  room,  and  fell  into  a  refreshing  sleep. 

But  what  of  Carla  Earle? 

On  leaving  Esther,  she  walked  slowly  toward  Keith's 
saloon.  Suddenly,  she  put  her  hand  to  her  heart,  stag- 
gered, and  gave  a  sharp  cry.  Then  trembling  in  every 
limb,  she  turned  abruptly,  and  walked  rapidly  toward 
the  canyon.  She  reached  a  place  that  seemed  to  have  a 
fascination  for  her.  She  looked  at  the  dark  pool  and 
wrung  her  hands.  Her  muscles  gave  way,  and  she  sank 
on  the  bank,  while  great  convulsive  sobs  shook  her  frame. 
She  tried  to  rise,  but  her  limbs  refused  to  obey  her  will. 
Then  it  was  that  her  agony  of  shame,  and  sorrow,  and  re- 
morse burst  forth  in  pitiful  cries  to  God  to  let  her  die. 
She  removed  her  hat  and  wrap,  and  crawled  to  the  verge 
of  the  black  pool.  She  shuddered  as  she  looked.  Then 
a  great  horror-stricken  cry  came  from  her  white  lips  as 
she  plunged  into  the  seething  waters. 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  human  voice  in  answer;  and 
a  moment  later,  Patrick  Murphy  plunged  after  her, 
grasped  and  caught  her  floating  skirt,  pulled  her  by  it 
to  shore,  and  lifted  her  up  the  bank.  He  began  to  wring 
the  water  from  her  skirts. 

"Lass,  lass,"  he  said,  kindly,  "what  made  yez  do  it? 
What 's  the  matter  wid  yez  ? ' ' 

Great  sobs  were  his  only  answer.  It  seemed  as  though 
the  girl  must  die  from  the  agony  of  her  distress. 

Then  he  lifted  her  in  his  arms,  and  carried  her  to 
where  he  had  left  his  horse.  By  the  dim  light,  he  had 


136  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

recognized  Carla  Earle,  and  he  at  once  concluded  that 
Mark  Clifton  was  responsible  for  her  deed.  His  first 
impulse,  like  all  of  his  impulses,  was  a  generous  one.  He 
resolved  to  take  her  to  his  home,  and  become  her  pro- 
tector. As  he  was  about  to  lift  her  to  his  horse's  back, 
he  discovered  that  she  had  fainted.  He  succeeded  in 
lifting  her  to  the  saddle,  mounted  behind  her,  and  rode 
directly  to  his  home. 

A  few  words  sufficed  to  explain  to  his  wife  the  rescue 
of  the  girl,  and  the  necessity  of  keeping  her  whereabouts 
a  profound  secret.  Every  member  of  the  family  was 
enjoined  to  strict  silence  about  the  presence  of  Carla 
Earle  in  their  home. 

Mrs.  Murphy  undressed  Carla  and  put  her  in 
her  own  bed.  The  helplessness  of  the  unconscious  girl 
appealed  to  her.  After  a  time,  Carla 's  eyes  opened. 
She  looked  startled,  and  began  to  rave,  writhing  and 
twisting  as  one  in  mortal  agony.  Now  she  called  on 
Mark  Clifton  to  keep  his  promise  to  her;  now  she  asked 
"Wathemah  to  go  for  Miss  Bright;  now  she  begged  God 
to  take  her ;  now  she  was  on  the  brink  of  the  pool,  and  in 
the  dark  water. 

So  she  raved,  and  the  night  passed.  From  time  to 
time  Mrs.  Murphy  laid  wet  cloths  on  Carla 's  head,  or 
moistened  her  lips.  The  two  faithful  watchers  did  not 
close  their  eyes.  The  day  dawned,  and  they  were  still 
watching ;  but  at  last  their  patient  slept. 

When  Carla  finally  wakened,  she  looked  around,  and 
seeing  Mrs.  Murphy,  asked  where  she  was. 

"With  friends  who  are  going  to  take  good  care  of 
yer,"  answered  her  nurse. 

' '  How  did  I  come  here  ? ' ' 

Mrs.  Murphy  explained  that  her  husband  had  found 
her  unconscious,  and  had  brought  her  to  his  home. 


CARLA  EARLE  137 

And,  leaning  down,  she  did  an  unprecedented  thing. 
She  kissed  Carla  Earle.  At  this  Carla  began  to  cry. 

"Don't  cry,  lass,  don't  cry,"  said  Patrick,  who  en- 
tered just  then.  He  turned  away  and  blew  his  nose 
violently. 

"I  must  get  up  and  help  you,"  said  the  sick  girl, 
trying  to  rise.  But  she  did  not  rise  that  day  nor  for 
many  days.  Throughout  her  illness  that  followed,  Mrs. 
Murphy's  kindness  was  unstinted.  She  waited  on  the 
sick  girl  with  unfailing  patience.  But  Brigham  was 
oftenest  at  her  bedside  when  home,  telling  her  of  his 
beloved  teacher  and  what  she  taught  them.  At  last 
Carla  begged  to  see  her. 

That  very  day  Patrick  drove  down  for  Esther,  telling 
her  on  their  way  back  to  the  ranch  the  particulars  of 
his  finding  Carla  Earle,  and  of  her  subsequent  illness. 

"You  dear,  good  people!"  said  Esther,  deeply 
touched.  "I  feel  so  grateful  to  you." 

"Och!  That's  nothin',  Miss,"  he  responded  awk- 
wardly. "Whin  Oi  see  the  girl  so  near  desthruction, 
Oi  sez  ter  mesilf,  sez  Oi,  what  if  me  sisther  or  one  of  me 
little  girrls  wuz  iver  ter  be  in  the  clutches  of  a  Mark 
Clifton?  So  Oi  sez  ter  mesilf,  sez  Oi,  Oi'll  jist  save 
her.  That's  all  there  wuz  av  it.  My  wife  has  taken 
care  o'  the  lass.  An'  she  has  grown  that  fond  av  her! 
Beats  all!" 

"  God  will  bless  you  for  saving  her,  you  may  be  sure 
of  that,"  responded  Esther  heartily.  "She  must  have 
gone  directly  from  me  to  the  canyon.  I  had  urged  her 
to  leave  Mr.  Clifton  and  come  to  me,  but  she  did  not 
seem  to  have  decision  enough  to  promise  then.  The 
canyon  must  have  been  an  after-thought,  and  the  result 
of  her  despair." 

"Poor  creetur!"  said  Patrick,  huskily. 


138  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"When  Carla  saw  Esther,  she  began  to  sob,  and  seemed 
greatly  disturbed.  Her  pulse  grew  more  rapid.  Such 
remorse  one  seldom  sees. 

Esther  placed  her  own  cool  hand  on  the  sick  girl's 
forehead,  and  spoke  to  her  in  low,  soothing  tones.  Carla 
grasped  her  hand  and  held  it  tightly. 

"I  have  wanted  to  see  you  and  tell  you — "  But  Es- 
ther interrupted  her. 

"Yes,  dear,  you  shall  tell  me  by  and  by.  Don't  try 
to  tell  me  now." 

"I  must.  The  distress  here"  (placing  her  hand  over 
her  heart)  "will  never  go  until  I  tell  you.  After  I  left 
you  at  the  schoolhouse,  I  was  filled  with  despair.  I  felt 
so  utterly  strengthless.  Then  I  prayed.  Suddenly  it 
came  to  me  I  must  never  again  return  to  the  saloon  or 
— him.  I  seemed  to  have  strength  given  me  to  go  on 
and  on  in  the  opposite  direction.  All  I  remember  now 
is  that  I  resolved  to  make  it  impossible  to  return.  Then 
I  awakened  here.  They  have  been  so  kind  to  me,  es- 
pecially little  Brigham.  He  comes  in  to  see  me  as  soon 
as  he  returns  from  school,  and  talks  to  me  about  you, 
and  it  comforts  me." 

"God  has  been  leading  you,  Carla,"  said  Esther.  "I 
am  sure  of  that.  And  He  raised  up  this  kind  friend 
to  save  you  in  your  dark  hour.  But  the  dark  hour  is 
past  now,  and  we  are  going  to  help  you  learn  how  to 
grow  happy." 

"Can  one  learn  how  to  grow  happy  who  has  made 
such  a  blunder  of  life?" 

'  *  Oh,  yes.     And  it  is  a  blessed  lesson  to  learn. ' ' 

"When  Esther  left,  she  promised  to  return  on  the 
morrow. 

That  evening,  there  was  a  family  council  at  Clayton 
Ranch,  and  the  result  of  it  was  that  Mrs.  Clayton  her- 


CARLA  EARLE  139 

self  soon  went  to  see  Carla,  and  invited  her  to  make  her 
home  with  them. 

So  it  came  about  that  Carla  Earle  became  one  of  the 
Clayton  household;  and  in  the  loving,  helpful  atmos- 
phere of  that  home,  she  began  to  lift  up  her  lovely  head, 
as  does  an  early  blossoming  flower  in  the  April  sunshine 
after  it  has  been  nipped  by  an  untimely  frost.  And 
life,  with  love  enfolding  her  every  hour  of  each  happy 
day,  began  to  grow  worth  while  to  the  English  girl. 

And  Carla  grew  into  the  affection  of  the  family,  for 
she  was  a  refined,  winsome  creature.  She  became  as 
a  daughter  to  Mrs.  Clayton. 

One  day  Mrs.  Clayton  said  to  her  husband: 

"Do  you  notice  how  much  Carla  is  growing  like  our 
Miss  Bright?'' 

"Yes,"  he  responded.  There  is  something  very  at- 
tractive about  both.  Only  Miss  Bright  is  a  remarkably 
well  poised  woman,  and  Carla  is  clinging  and  depend- 
ent. Poor  Carla !  How  bitterly  she  has  been  wronged ! 
I  am  glad  she  has  found  love  and  shelter  at  last." 

"So  am  I,  John.  Why,  the  poor  child  was  just 
starved  for  love." 

"I  believe,  Mary,  that  she  will  develop  into  a  strong 
character.  What  she  has  suffered  has  been  a  great  les- 
son to  her." 

"Poor  child!  Sometimes  when  I  speak  appreciative 
words  to  her,  she  breaks  down,  and  says  she  doesn't 
deserve  all  our  kindness.  One  day  when  she  cried,  she 
said,  'Why  does  God  take  mothers  away  from  their 
children  when  they  need  them  so?'  : 

"Well,"  he  responded,  "she  has  at  last  found  a  good 
mother.  God  bless  the  mother  and  the  unfortunate  girl ! ' ' 

And  stooping,  the  husband  kissed  his  wife,  and 
started  on  a  long  journey  to  a  distant  mine. 


CHAPTER  XI 

AN  EVENTFUL  DAY 

A5R  Esther  Bright  and  Wathemah  returned 
from  their  visit  at  Murphy  Ranch,  he  be- 
came a  guest  at  the  Clayton  home,  and 
there  he  remained  until  his  arm  was  well. 
His  sojourn  with  them  strengthened  his 
devotion  to  Esther  Bright,  and  brought  about  several 
changes  for  the  better  in  him. 

When  he  was  allowed  to  run  and  play  with  the  chil- 
ren  again,  he  returned  to  school  and  to  Keith's  saloon. 

The  men  who  had  always  called  him  the  "little 
tough,"  now  observed  him  with  amazement.  One  ob- 
served : 

1 1 1  '11  be  blowed  ef  the  Angel  o '  the  Gila  can 't  do  any- 
thin'  she  wants  ter.  See  that  kid?  He  used  ter  cuss 
like  a  pirate.  Do  ye  hear  him  cuss  now?  No,  sir! 
For  why?  'Cause  he  knows  she  don't  like  it.  That's 
why.  Ef  she  wuz  ter  be  turned  loose  among  the 
Apaches,  she'd  civilize  'em.  An'  they're  the  blanked- 
est  Indians  there  be.  I  don't  know  what  it  is  about 
her.  She  sort  o'  makes  a  feller  want  ter  be  somebody. 
I  reckon  God  Almighty  knows  more  about  'er  nor  we 
do,  'n'  she  knows  more  about  us  'n'  we  do  ourselves. 
Leastways,  she  do  about  me. ' ' 

Having  delivered  himself  to  this  effect,  he  left  the 
saloon,  sober. 

There  is,  no  doubt  Esther  Bright  had  sown  good  seed 
broadcast,  and  some  had  fallen  on  good  ground.  The 

140 


AN  EVENTFUL  DAY  141 

awakening  of  the  cowlasses  had  been  a  continual  joy 
to  her.  She  marveled  that  some  one  had  not  found 
them  before.  Each  successive  day  the  little  school 
reached  out  further  to  enrich  the  life  of  the  community. 

One  morning,  while  a  class  was  in  the  midst  of  a 
recitation,  there  came  a  knock  at  the  schoolhouse  door. 

"I'm  Robert  Duncan,"  said  a  Scotch  miner,  as 
Esther  opened  the  door.  He  held  by  the  hand  a  little 
boy  of  about  three  years. 

"This  is  Bobbie,"  he  continued.  "I've  brought  me 
bairn  tae  school." 

Could  the  mother  spare  such  a  baby  ?     Ah,  could  she  ? 

Esther  stooped  and  held  out  her  arms  to  the  child, 
but  he  hid  behind  his  father. 

"His  mither  died  last  week,  Miss,"  he  said  with  a 
choke  in  his  voice.  "I'd  like  tae  leave  him  with  ye." 

"I'm  very  sorry,"  she  replied,  with  quick  sympathy. 
Then  she  promised  to  receive  Bobbie  as  a  pupil,  pro- 
viding he  would  stay. 

"Oh,  he'll  stay,"  the  father  hastened  to  say,  "if 
ye '11  just  call  Donald." 

So  Donald  was  called,  and  he  succeeded  in  coaxing 
Bobbie  into  the  schoolroom. 

When  the  child  realized  that  his  father  had  gone  and 
left  him,  he  ran  to  the  door,  crying,  "Faither! 
Faither!"  while  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 

Then  the  mother  heart  of  Esther  Bright  asserted  itself. 
She  gathered  him  in  her  arms  and  soothed  him,  until 
he  cuddled  down  contentedly  and  fell  asleep. 

Soon  after,  Kenneth  Hastings  appeared  at  the  open 
door,  and  saw  Esther  at  her  desk  with  the  sleeping 
child  in  her  arms.  He  heard  her  speaking  in  a  soft 
tone  to  the  children  as  she  dismissed  them  for  the  morn- 
ing recess;  but  Bobbie  wakened  frightened.  At  the 


142  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

moment  Kenneth  entered,  Bobbie  was  carried  out  of  the 
room  by  Donald,  the  other  children  following. 

"I  came  to  see  if  you  could  go  for  a  horseback  ride 
this  afternoon,"  said  Kenneth.  "It's  a  glorious  day." 

"Just  delighted!     Nothing  would  please  me  better." 

The  two  stood  inside  the  open  door.  As  Wathemah 
saw  Kenneth  talking  to  his  teacher,  he  entered  the  door, 
pushed  between  them,  nestled  close  to  her,  and  said 
defiantly : 

"Miss  Bright  me  teacher;  mine!" 

"Yours,  eh,  sonny?"  said  Kenneth,  smiling.  Then 
looking  into  Esther's  face,  he  said: 

"I  wish  I  could  feel  as  sure  that  some  day  you  will 
be  mine." 

A  delicate  flush  swept  over  her  face.  When  he  went 
on  his  way,  life  and  vigor  were  in  every  step.  He 
seemed  to  walk  on  air. 

The  recess  over,  the  children  returned  to  their  seats, 
and  Patrick  Murphy  entered.  The  school,  for  the  hour, 
was  transformed  into  a  place  of  general  merchandise, 
for  the  teacher  had  promised  that  to-day  they  would 
play  store,  buy  and  sell.  Business  was  to  be  done  on 
a  strictly  cash  basis,  and  accounts  kept.  Several  chil- 
dren had  been  busy  for  days,  making  school  money. 
Scales  for  weighing,  and  various  measures  were  in  evi- 
dence. 

Patrick  watched  the  play  of  the  children,  as  they 
weighed  and  measured,  bought  and  sold. 

At  the  close  of  the  exercises,  he  turned  to  Esther, 
saying : 

"Oi  wisht  Oi  wuz  young  agin  mesilf.  Yez  lam  the 
chilthren  more  in  wan  hour,  'n'  many  folks  larns  in 
a  loife  toime.  It's  thankful  Oi  am  that  yez  came  ter 
Gila,  fur  the  school  is  gittin'  on." 


AN  EVENTFUL  DAY  143 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  compliment,  he  with- 
drew, highly  pleased  with  himself,  with  the  teacher, 
with  the  school,  and  the  world  generally.  If  there  was 
one  thing  that  met  with  Patrick's  unqualified  approval, 
it  was  "to  git  on." 

Near  the  close  of  the  midday  intermission,  during  the 
absence  of  Wathemah,  Donald  Carmichael  said  to  the 
teacher, 

"Ye  love  Wathemah  mair  nor  the  rest  o'  us,  don't 
ye?" 

"Why?"  asked  Esther,  as  she  smiled  down  at  the 
urchin. 

"Oh,"  hanging  his  head,  "ye  say  'Wathemah'  as 
though  ye  likit  him  mair  nor  anybody  else." 

"As  though  I  loved  him?" 

"Yep." 

"Well,"  she  acknowledged,  "I  do  love  Wathemah. 
I  love  all  the  other  children,  too.  Don't  you  think  I 
ought  to  love  Wathemah  a  little  better  because  he  has 
no  father  or  mother,  as  you  have,  to  love  him?" 

Donald  thought  not. 

"You  have  no  idea,"  said  Carla,  who  now  attended 
school,  "what  brutal  treatment  Wathemah  used  to  re- 
ceive at  the  saloon.  I  have  seen  him  teased  and  trounced 
and  knocked  around  till  he  was  frantic.  And  the  men 
took  delight  in  teaching  him  all  the  badness  they  knew. 
I  used  to  hear  them  while  I  was  helping  Mrs.  Keith." 
Carla's  eyes  suddenly  filled. 

"Poor  little  fellow!"  said  Esther,  in  response. 

"I  shall  never  forget  his  happiness,"  continued  Carla, 
"the  first  day  he  went  to  school.  He  came  to  me  and 
said  he  liked  his  teacher  and  wanted  to  go  live  with 
her." 

' '  Did  he  ?     Bless  his  heart ! ' ' 


144  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"After  that,"  Carla  went  on  to  say,  "he  came  to  me 
every  morning  to  see  if  he  was  clean  enough  to  go  to 
school." 

"So  you  were  the  good  fairy,  Carla,  who  wrought  the 
transformation  in  him.  He  certainly  was  a  very  dirty 
little  boy  the  first  morning  he  came  to  school,  but  he 
has  been  pretty  clean  ever  since. ' ' 

Donald,  who  had  been  listening,  now  spoke  up  again. 

"Oh,  Wathemah 's  all  right,  only  I  thocht  ye  likit 
him  mair  nor  the  rest  o'  us." 

"No,  she  don't,  neither,"  stoutly  maintained  Brigham. 
"I  guess  I  know.  She's  always  fair." 

At  this  moment,  Wathemah  himself  drew  near.  He 
had  been  to  the  timber  for  mistletoe,  and  returned  with 
his  arms  full  of  sprays  of  green,  covered  with  white 
waxen  berries.  He  walked  proudly  to  his  Beloved,  and 
gave  her  his  offering.  Then  he  stepped  back  and  sur- 
veyed her. 

"Wathemah  love  he  teacher,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of 
deep  satisfaction. 

"She  ain't  yourn,  ye  Apache  savage,"  cried  Donald. 
"She  don't  love  ye;  she  said  so,"  added  the  child,  ma- 
liciously. 

Like  a  flash,  Wathemah  was  upon  him,  beating  him 
with  all  his  strength.  He  took  the  law  into  his  own 
hands,  settled  his  score,  and  laid  his  opponent  out  be- 
fore Esther  could  interfere.  When  she  grasped  Wathe- 
mah's  arm,  he  turned  upon  her  like  a  tiger. 

"Donald  lie! "he  cried. 

"Yes,  Donald  did  lie,"  she  conceded,  "but  you  should 
not  punish  him." 

"Donald  call  savage.     Wathemah  kill  he!" 

The  teacher  continued  to  hold  him  firmly.  She  tried 
to  reason  with  him,  but  her  words  made  no  impression. 


AN  EVENTFUL  DAY  145 

The  child  stood  resolute.  He  lifted  a  scornful  finger 
toward  Donald,  and  said  in  a  tone  of  contempt : 

" Donald  lie.  Wathemah  no  lie." 

The  teacher  released  him,  and  told  him  to  see  her 
after  school.  Then  the  afternoon  session  began.  But 
Wathemah 's  place  was  vacant. 

As  the  hours  passed,  it  became  evident  that  Donald 
was  not  as  happy  as  usual.  He  was  in  disgrace.  At 
last  his  class  was  called.  He  hung  his  head  in  shame. 
Esther  did  not  press  him  to  recite. 

The  hour  for  dismissal  came.  The  little  culprit  sat 
alone  in  the  farther  corner  of  the  room.  Carla  started 
out  to  find  Wathemah. 

The  loud  accusing  tick  of  the  clock  beat  upon  Donald 's 
ear.  The  teacher  was  busy,  and  at  first  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  him.  She  heard  a  sniffling  in  the  corner.  Still 
no  attention.  At  last  she  sat  down  by  the  lad,  and 
said  very  gently: 

"Tell  me  about  it,  Donald." 

No  answer.  He  averted  his  face,  and  rubbed  his 
dirty  fists  into  his  eyes. 

"Tell  me  why  you  lied  to  Wathemah,  Donald." 

Still  no  answer. 

"How  could  you  hurt  his  feelings  so?" 

No  answer. 

Then  Esther  talked  to  him  till  he  buried  his  face  in 
his  arms  and  sobbed.  She  probed  down  into  his  heart. 
At  last  she  asked  him  what  he  thought  he  should  do. 
Still  silence.  She  waited.  The  clock  ticked  louder  and 
louder  in  the  ears  of  the  child :  ' '  Say  it !  Say  it !  Say 
it!" 

At  last  he  spoke. 

' '  I  ought  tae  tell  Wathemah  I  lied ;  but  I  dinna  want 
tae  tell  him  afore  the  lads. ' ' 


146  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"Ah!"  she  said,  "but  you  said  your  untruthful  words 
before  them ;  and  unless  you  are  a  coward,  your  apology 
ought  to  be  before  them. ' ' 

"I  am  nae  coward,"  he  said,  lifting  his  head. 

"Then  you  must  apologize  to  Wathemah  before  the 
children  to-morrow." 

"Yes,  mum." 

Then  she  dismissed  him,  telling  him  to  remember 
what  he  had  done,  when  he  prayed  to  God  that  night. 

"Did  God  hear  me  lie?"  he  asked. 

"I  think  so,  Donald." 

The  child  looked  troubled. 

"I  didna  think  o'  that.  I'll  tell  Him  I'm  sorry," 
he  said  as  he  left  the  schoolroom. 

He  began  to  search  for  Wathemah,  that  he  might  make 
peace  with  him. 

At  first  Carla's  search  was  fruitless.  Then  she  sought 
him  in  a  place  she  knew  he  loved,  away  up  the  canyon. 
There,  sure  enough,  she  found  him.  He  sat  on  a  bowlder 
near  a  cascade  with  his  back  toward  her.  Beyond  him, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  stream,  rose  the  overhanging 
cliffs.  He  did  not  hear  her  step  as  he  listened  to  the 
music  of  the  waters. 

"Wathemah!"  she  called.  He  started,  then  turned 
toward  her.  She  saw  that  he  had  been  crying.  She 
climbed  up  on  the  bowlder  and  sat  down  beside  him. 

'  *  Donald  lie ! "  he  said,  angrily. 

"Yes,  Wathemah,  but  he  is  sorry  for  it,  and  I  am 
sure  will  tell  you  so. " 

She  saw  tears  roll  down  the  dirty  little  face.  She  had 
the  wisdom  to  leave  him  alone ;  and  walking  a  short  dis- 
tance up  the  canyon,  sent  pebbles  skipping  the  water. 
After  a  while  this  drew  him  to  her. 

"Shall  we  go  up  stream?"  she  asked. 


AN  EVENTFUL  DAY  147 

He  nodded.  They  jumped  from  bowlder  to  bowlder, 
and  at  last  stopped  where  the  waters  go  softly,  making 
a  soothing  music  for  the  ear. 

"Carla!" 

"Yes,  Wathemah." 

"Jesus  forgive?" 

"Yes,  dear,  He  does."  Then  Carla's  self-control  gave 
way,  and  she  sobbed  out  her  long-suppressed  grief.  In- 
stantly the  child's  arms  were  around  her  neck. 

"No  cry,  Carla!"  he  said.  "No  cry,  Carla!"  pat- 
ting her  cheek. 

Then,  putting  his  tear-stained  cheek  close  to  hers, 
he  said: 

"Jesus  love  Carla." 

She  gathered  the  little  comforter  in  her  arms;  and 
though  her  tears  fell  fast,  they  brought  relief  to  her 
heart. 

At  last  she  persuaded  him  to  return  to  school  the 
following  day,  and  to  do  all  he  could  to  atone  for  leav- 
ing it  without  permission. 

On  their  return,  they  sought  the  teacher  in  the  school- 
house,  but  she  was  gone,  and  the  door  was  locked ;  neither 
was  she  to  be  found  at  the  Clayton  ranch.  The  little 
penitent  lingered  a  long  time,  but  his  Beloved  did  not 
come.  At  last  he  walked  reluctantly  in  to  camp. 

Away  up  the  mountain  road,  Esther  Bright  and 
Kenneth  Hastings  drew  rein.  The  Englishman  sat  his 
horse  well;  but  it  was  evident  his  companion  was  not 
a  horsewoman.  She  might  shine  in  a  drawing-room  or 
in  a  home,  but  not  on  a  horse's  back.  If  she  had  not 
been  riding  one  of  the  finest  saddle  horses  in  the  country, 
she  would  have  appeared  to  greater  disadvantage. 

The  canter  up  the  mountain  road  had  brought  the 
color  to  her  cheeks.  It  had  also  shaken  out  her  hair- 


148  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

pins;  and  now  her  wavy  brown  hair,  with  its  glint  of 
gold,  tumbled  about  her  shoulders. 

"You  look  like  a  gypsy,"  Kenneth  was  saying. 

She  laughed. 

"The  last  gypsies  I  ever  saw,"  she  said  merrily, 
"were  encamped  along  the  road  through  Beekman's 
Woods,  as  you  approach  Tarrytown-on-Hudson  from 
the  north.  The  gypsy  group  was  picturesque,  but  the 
individuals  looked  villainous.  I  hope  I  do  not  strongly 
resemble  them,"  she  said  still  laughing;  then  added, 
' '  They  wanted  to  tell  our  fortunes. ' ' 

"Did  you  let  them  tell  yours?" 

"Yes,  just  for  fun." 

"What  did  they  tell  you?" 

"Oh,  just  foolishness." 

"Come,  tell  me  just  for  fun." 

"Well," — here  she  blushed — "the  old  gypsy  told  me 
that  an  Englishman  would  woo  me,  that  I'd  not  know 
my  own  mind,  and  that  I  would  reject  him." 

"Interesting!     Go  on." 

"That  something  dreadful  would  happen  to  the  suitor ; 
that  I  'd  help  take  care  of  him,  and  after  that,  all  was 
cloudland. ' ' 

"Really,  this  grows  more  interesting.  The  fortune 
teller  realized  how  hard-hearted  you  were.  Didn't  she 
ask  you  to  join  their  caravan?  You'd  make  an  ideal 
gypsy  princess." 

Esther  touched  her  horse  with  her  whip.  He  gave 
a  sudden  lunge,  and  sped  onward  like  mad.  It  was  all 
she  could  do  to  sit  her  horse.  Before  her,  to  her  dismay, 
yawned  a  deep  gulch.  She  could  not  stop  her  horse 
now,  of  that  she  was  sure.  She  tightened  her  grip,  and 
waited.  She  heard  the  sound  of  hoofs  behind  her,  and 
Kenneth's  voice  shouting  "Whoa!"  As  well  shriek  at 


AN  EVENTFUL  DAY  149 

a  tornado  to  stop.  She  seemed  to  catch  the  spirit  of 
the  horse.  The  pupils  of  her  eyes  dilated.  She  felt 
the  quivering  of  the  beast  when,  for  a  moment,  he  reared 
on  his  haunches.  Then  she  felt  herself  borne  through 
the  air,  as  the  animal  took  the  gulch;  then  she  knew 
that  he  was  struggling  up  the  bank.  In  a  moment  the 
beast  stopped,  quivering  all  through  his  frame;  his 
nostrils  were  dilated,  and  his  breath  came  hard. 

In  a  few  minutes  Kenneth  Hastings  overtook  her.  It 
was  evident  he  had  been  alarmed. 

"You  have  done  a  perilous  thing  for  an  inexperi- 
enced rider,"  he  said.  "It  is  dumb  luck  that  you  have 
escaped  unhurt.  I  expected  to  find  you  injured  or 
dead." 

"I  was  dreadfully  scared  when  we  came  to  the  gulch. 
I  didn't  know  about  it,  you  know;  but  I  couldn't  stop 
the  horse  then." 

"Of  course  not.  "What  made  the  animal  run?  Did 
you  cut  him  with  the  whip  ? ' ' 

"Yes.  I  thought  it  'd  be  such  fun  to  run  away  from 
you  for  calling  me  a  gypsy. ' ' 

He  laughed.     Then  he  looked  grave. 

Suddenly  Esther  Bright  grew  as  cold  as  ice,  and 
swayed  in  the  saddle.  At  last  she  was  forced  to  say 
she  was  ill.  Her  companion  dismounted  and  lifted  her 
from  the  saddle. 

' '  Why,  how  you  tremble ! "  he  was  saying.  ' '  How  cold 
you  are!" 

"Just  fright,"  she  replied,  making  an  effort  to  rally. 
"I  am  ashamed  of  being  scared.  The  fright  has  made 
me  deathly  sick."  Even  her  lips  were  white.  He 
seemed  deeply  concerned. 

After  a  while  her  color  returned,  and  she  assured 
him  that  she  was  able  to  go  on. 


150  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"But  are  you  sure?"  he  asked,  showing  the  deepest 
concern. 

"Quite  sure/'  she  said,  positively.  "Come,  let  us 
go.  I  have  given  you  enough  trouble  already. ' ' 

"No  trouble,  I  assure  you." 

He  did  not  add  that  the  very  fact  that  she  had 
needed  a  service  from  him  was  sufficient  recompense. 

Then  they  walked  their  horses  homeward,  talking  of 
many  things  of  common  interest  to  them. 

Down  in  the  valley,  the  soft  gray  of  the  dead  gramma 
grass  was  relieved  by  the  great  beds  of  evergreen  cacti, 
yucca,  and  the  greenery  of  the  sage  and  mesquite. 
The  late  afterglow  in  the  sky  mingled  with  the  purple 
haze  that  hung  like  an  ethereal  veil  over  the  landscape. 

They  stopped  their  horses  at  a  turn  of  the  road  com- 
manding a  fine  view  of  the  mountains. 

"How  beautiful  the  world  is  everywhere!"  Esther 
said,  half  to  herself. 

"Especially  in  Arizona,"  said  Kenneth,  as  he  drew 
a  deep  invigorating  breath. 

Silence  again. 

"Miss  Bright,"  he  hesitated.  "I  believe  the  world 
would  be  beautiful  to  me  anywhere,  if  you  were  there. ' ' 

"You  flatter,"  she  said,  lifting  her  hand  as  if  to  ward 
off  what  might  follow. 

"No  flattery.  Since  you  came,  the  whole  world  has 
seemed  beautiful  to  me." 

"  I  am  glad  if  my  coming  has  improved  your  vision, ' ' 
she  said  merrily.  "Come,  we  must  hasten,  or  we'll 
be  late  for  dinner.  You  are  to  dine  with  us  to-night, 
I  believe." 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Clayton  was  so  kind  as  to  invite  me." 

Again  her  horse  took  the  lead.  Kenneth  touched  his 
with  the  whip,  and  overtook  her.  For  some  distance, 


AN  EVENTFUL  DAY  151 

the  horses  were  neck  and  neck.  As  they  came  to  a  steep 
ascent,  they  slackened  their  pace. 

Her  eyes  were  sparkling,  and  she  was  in  excellent 
spirits. 

"If  I  were  a  better  horsewoman,"  she  said  gayly, 
"I'd  challenge  you  to  a  race." 

"Why  not,  anyway?"  he  suggested.  "There  are  no 
more  gulches." 

"I  might  not  be  able  to  stick  on." 

"We'll  try  it,"  he  responded,  encouragingly,  "over 
the  next  level  stretch." 

So  try  it  they  did.  They  flew  like  the  wind.  The 
cool  evening  air,  the  excitement  of  the  race,  the  rich 
afterglow  in  the  heavens, — all  were  exhilarating.  On 
they  sped,  on  and  on,  till  they  turned  into  the  canyon 
road.  Again  Esther's  horse  led,  but  Kenneth  soon  over- 
took her,  and  then  their  horses  walked  slowly  on  together 
the  rest  of  the  way. 

"I  wonder  if  you  are  as  happy  as  I  am,"  he  said, 
as  he  assisted  her  from  the  saddle. 

"I  am  in  the  positive  degree  of  happiness,"  she  said, 
cheerily.  "I  am  always  happy  except  when  shadowed 
by  someone  else's  sorrow." 

He  said  something  to  her  about  bearing  all  her  future 
sorrows  for  her,  adding: 

"That  is  becoming  the  dearest  wish  of  my  heart." 

"All  must  meet  sorrow  sometime,"  she  responded 
gravely.  "I  hope  to  meet  mine  with  fortitude  when 
it  comes." 

She  stood  stroking  the  horse's  neck. 

"I  wish  I  might  help  you  to  bear  it  when  it  comes. 
Oh,  Miss  Bright,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "I  wish  I  could 
make  you  realize  how  I  honor  you — and  dare  I  say  it? 
— how  I  love  you !  I  wish  you  would  try  to  understand 


152  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

me.  I  am  not  trifling.  I  am  in  earnest."  He  looked 
at  her  downcast  face. 

"I  will  try,"  she  said,  looking  up  frankly,  with  no 
trace  of  coquetry  in  her  voice  or  manner. 

There  had  been  moments  when  Kenneth's  love  for 
Esther  had  led  him  to  speak  dearer  words  to  her  than 
her  apparent  interest  in  him  would  warrant.  At  such 
times  she  would  retire  within  herself,  surrounded  by 
an  impenetrable  reserve.  Kenneth  Hastings  was  the 
only  one  she  ever  treated  icily.  One  day  he  would  be 
transported  to  the  seventh  heaven;  another,  he  would 
sink  to  the  deeps  of  gloom. 

It  was  several  days  after  this  ride  that  he  chanced 
to  meet  Esther  in  the  path  along  the  river  road.  He 
stopped  her,  and  asked  abruptly : 

"Why  do  you  treat    me  so  frigidly  sometimes?" 

"Do  I?"  she  asked  in  surprise. 

He  remained  silent. 

"Do  I?"  she  said,  repeating  her  question. 

"Yes,  you  do.     Why  do  you  treat  me  so?" 

She  looked  distressed. 

"I  didn't  realize  I  had  treated  you  discourteously, 
Mr.  Hastings.  If  I  did,  it  was  because  I  am  afraid  of 
you." 

"Preposterous!  Afraid  of  me!"  Now  he  was  smil- 
ing. 

"Perhaps — "  As  she  hesitated,  she  looked  up  at 
him  in  an  appealing  manner. 

"Perhaps  what?" 

"Perhaps  it  is  because  you  have  given  me  a  glimpse 
of  your  own  heart,  and  have — " 

"Have  what?" 

" — asked  me  to  reveal  mine  to  you.     I  can't." 

"In  other  words,  you  do  not  love  me?" 


AN  EVENTFUL  DAY  153 


"I  honor  you  as  I  do  several  people  I  know.  Nothing 
more. ' ' 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Kenneth  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"Your  friendship!  Am  I  to  be  deprived  of  that, 
too?" 

"My  friendship  is  already  yours/'  she  said.  "You 
know  that." 

"I  thank  you.  I  need  hardly  tell  you  that  your 
friendship  is  the  dearest  thing  I  know. ' ' 

Then  Kenneth  left  her,  and  she  walked  on  alone.  But 
still  those  words  kept  repeating  themselves  in  her  mind 
like  a  haunting  melody,  "Your  friendship  is  the  dearest 
thing  I  know!"  and,  like  Banquo's  ghost,  they  would 
not  down. 


CHAPTER  XII 

CHRISTMAS   DAY 

IT  was  Christmas  morning,  early.     Not  a  leaf  was 
stirring.     The  stillness   seemed  aware.     The  sun 
rose  in  solemn  majesty,  heralded  by  scarlet  runners 
of  the  sky.     Just  as  it  burst  forth  from  behind 
the   sleeping  mountains,    a  splendor   of   coloring 
beyond    the    power    of    man    to    describe    flooded    the 
earth  and  the  covering  dome  of  the  heavens.     Then  the 
snowy  mountain  peaks,  grim  sentinels  of  the  ages,  grew 
royal   in   crimson   and   gold.     And   the   far-stretching 
valley,  where  the  soft  gray  of  dead  gramma  grass  was 
relieved  by  the  yellowish  tint  of  desert  soil,  took  on  the 
glory    of   the  morning.     From  zenith   to   horizon,   the 
crystal  clearness  seemed  for  one  supreme  moment  ashine 
with  sifted  gold.     But,  as  if  to  protect  the  eyes  of  man 
from   the   too    great   splendor   of   this    anniversary    of 
Christ's  natal  day,  a  faint  purple  veil  of  haze  dropped 
over  the  distant  mountains.     The  waters  of  the   Gila 
caught  the  glory  of  the  morning,  and  became  molten 
gold. 

When  the  Gilaites  awakened,  the  gladness  of  the  morn- 
ing was  upon  them ;  and  men  and  "women  remembered, 
some  of  them  for  the  first  time  in  years,  that  it  was 
Christmas  day,  and  went  about  with  ' '  Merry  Christmas ' ' 
on  their  lips. 

To  the  children  of  Gila,  the  day  that  had  heretofore 
been  as  all  other  days,  now  took  on  new  meaning.  They 
had  come  to  associate  it  with  a  wonderful  personality 

154 


CHRISTMAS  DAY  155 

they  were  learning  to  know  through  their  teacher. 
Christ's  birthday  she  had  called  Christmas  day,  Christ 
their  elder  brother,  Christ  the  lover  of  children. 

They  had  seen  the  splendor  of  the  morning.  What 
wonder  that  some  of  them  were  touched  with  a  feeling 
of  awe? 

For  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  Gila,  Christmas 
day  was  to  be  observed,  and  every  child  had  come  to 
feel  a  personal  interest  in  the  celebration. 

The  preparations  for  the  evening  exercises  to  be  held 
in  the  schoolhouse  had  all  been  so  new,  so  mysteriously 
interesting!  Expectation  ran  high.  Word  had  spread 
to  the  burro  camps  on  the  mountains,  and  to  the  Mexi- 
cans tending  the  charcoal  pits  up  the  canyon.  Rumors 
had  reached  other  camps  also,  miles  away. 

The  Mexicans,  as  was  their  custom,  had  prepared  im- 
mense bonfires  on  the  mountains  and  foothills  for  firing 
Christmas  night.  But  hearing  of  the  approaching  en- 
tertainment at  the  schoolhouse,  they  caught  the  spirit 
of  the  hour  and  outdid  themselves. 

The  saguaro,  or  giant  cactus,  sometimes  called  the 
sentinel  of  the  desert,  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  va- 
rieties of  the  cactus  family.  Sometimes  it  grows  in  the 
form  of  a  fluted  column,  many  times  reaching  a  height 
of  sixty  feet.  Often  at  a  distance  of  perhaps  thirty 
feet  from  the  ground,  this  cactus  throws  out  fleshy  arms 
at  right  angles,  which,  after  a  short  distance,  shoot  up- 
ward in  columns  parallel  to  the  main  column,  giving  the 
cactus  the  appearance  of  a  giant  candelabrum.  The 
saguaro  has  a  skeleton  of  woody  ribs  bound  together 
by  tough,  woody  fibers.  In  the  living  cactus,  this  frame- 
work is  filled  and  covered  with  green  pulp;  but  when 
the  cactus  dies,  the  pulp  dries  and  is  blown  away.  The 
ribs  are  covered  with  quantities  of  resinous  thorns  that 


156  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

burn  like  pitch.  The  dead  saguaro,  therefore,  when 
set  on  fire,  becomes  a  most  effective  bonfire,  having  fre- 
quently been  used  by  the  Indians,  in  early  days,  as  a 
signal  fire. 

On  this  special  occasion,  the  Mexicans  had  found 
several  of  these  dead  sentinels  of  the  desert  so  nearly 
in  the  shape  of  a  Roman  cross  that  a  few  blows  from 
an  ax  made  them  perfectly  so.  When  lighted  Christ- 
mas night,  the  burning  crosses  on  the  mountains  loomed 
up  against  the  sky,  no  longer  symbols  of  triumphant 
hate,  but  of  triumphant  love. 

Early  that  day,  what  the  Mexicans  had  done  began 
to  be  noised  abroad ;  and  with  every  bulletin  that  passed 
from  mouth  to  mouth,  interest  in  the  approaching  serv- 
ice at  the  schoolhouse  deepened.  It  looked  as  though 
the  room  could  not  hold  all  who  would  come. 

The  young  folk  had  been  generous  helpers,  and  had 
decorated  the  place  with  spruce,  pine,  cedar  and  mistle- 
toe. The  air  was  heavy  with  spicy  fragrance.  Around 
the  room  were  huge  altar  candles  in  improvised  candle- 
sticks of  wood.  Across  one  end  of  the  room,  was  stretched 
a  large  sheet  of  white  cotton  cloth. 

For  many  a  day,  John  Clayton,  Kenneth  Hastings 
and  Esther  Bright  had  formed  a  mysterious  triumvirate. 
The  two  men  had  been  seen  bringing  packages  from  the 
distant  station.  What  it  might  mean  became  an  ab- 
sorbing topic  of  conversation.  One  thing  was  certain, 
Gila  was  alive. 

On  Christmas  morning,  these  three,  accompanied  by 
Mrs.  Carmichael,  met  at  the  schoolhouse  to  make  their 
final  preparations.  The  beautiful  silver  spruce,  selected 
for  the  Christmas  tree,  stood  out  from  the  dark  greenery 
of  the  room.  It  was  a  beautiful  tree,  exquisite  in  color, 
perfect  in  symmetry,  spicy  in  fragrance.  They  dec- 


CHEISTMAS  DAY  157 

orated  this  with  ornaments,  then  began  to  hang  gifts 
on  its  branches.  At  one  side  of  the  tree,  Esther  stacked 
small  pasteboard  boxes  close  and  high.  What  these 
contained,  only  she  herself  knew;  and  she  preserved  a 
mysteriously  interesting  silence. 

As  the  four  busied  themselves  at  their  happy  task, 
Mrs.  Carmichael  suddenly  uncovered  a  huge  basket  she, 
thus  far,  had  managed  to  conceal.  She  looked  a  culprit 
as  she  said: 

"An'  whaur  would  ye  be  wishin'  the  cookies  put?" 

"Cookies!"  they  all  exclaimed,  with  one  accord, 
"Cookies!" 

Esther  sampled  one. 

"They're  just  as  good  as  they  look!"  she  said. 
"What  a  lot  of  them!  How  did  you  come  to  think  of 
it?  How  good  of  you!" 

"It  was  Donald.  He  telt  me  aboot  y'r  birthday 
cakes  for  the  wains.  So  I  thocht  bein's  it  was  the 
Maister's  birthday,  each  should  hae  a  birthday  cake. 
A  makit  one  hundred." 

"One  hundred!"  Kenneth  whistled.  "You  know 
how  to  find  the  way  to  men's  hearts,"  he  laughed. 
"But  you  found  your  way  to  mine  long  ago." 

"Fie,  fie,"  she  said  smiling.     "I  ken  ye  weel." 

When  their  preparations  were  completed,  they  looked 
about  with  an  air  of  satisfaction.  It  was  evident  the 
spirit  of  Christmas  had  taken  possession  of  them.  Such 
kindness!  Such  good  will! 

Jack  Harding  was  the  last  to  leave  the  room.  Before 
he  closed  and  locked  the  door,  he  deposited  some  pack- 
ages in  an  obscure  corner. 

An  hour  before  the  time  for  the  entertainment,  the 
little  adobe  schoolhouse  was  surrounded  by  people,  and 
they  continued  to  come  even  after  the  teacher,  accom- 


158  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

panied  by  the  Claytons,  opened  the  door.  Soon  every 
seat  was  filled;  then,  all  standing  space.  Then  the  win- 
dows were  crowded  with  faces.  Still  there  were  as 
many  more  outside  who  could  not  hope  to  see,  but 
might  possibly  hear. 

Those  fortunate  enough  to  enter  the  room  sniffed  the 
fragrance  of  cedar  and  spruce.  The  burning  mesquite 
wood  in  the  fireplace  snapped  and  crackled,  and  the 
soft  light  from  the  huge  candles  idealized  the  beauty 
of  the  tree  and  the  woodsy  decorations  of  the  room. 
And  there  was  the  teacher  also,  their  teacher  (for  did 
she  not  belong  to  them?)  young,  lovely,  doing  all  this 
for  them!  They  noted  every  detail  of  her  simple  gray 
toilet,  even  to  the  soft  lace  at  her  throat.  There  was 
something  exquisite  about  her  that  night  as  she  stood 
before  them  in  the  yellow  candle-light.  Her  face  was 
luminous.  Kenneth  Hastings  observed  it,  and  said  in 
a  low  tone  to  his  friend  John  Clayton, 

' '  See  Miss  Bright 's  face !  I  never  saw  anything  more 
lovely.  The  spirit  of  Christmas  is  in  it." 

John  Clayton  placed  his  hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder 
as  he  responded, 

' '  Yes.     It 's  all  due  to  her  beautiful,  generous  soul. ' ' 

After  several  Christmas  carols  were  sung,  he  told  them 
Miss  Bright  would  now  address  them.  There  was  an 
approving  murmur. 

Then  she  told  them  the  old,  old  story,  dearest  story 
of  childhood,  of  the  little  child  in  the  khan  at  Bethlehem, 
of  the  star,  of  the  song  of  the  angels,  the  coming  of 
the  shepherds,  and  the  search  by  the  Wise  Men,  as  they 
came  with  their  rich  gifts  of  gold  and  frankincense  and 
myrrh,  to  lay  them  at  the  Christ-child's  feet.  She  told 
the  story  briefly  and  simply. 

Among  those  who  listened  there  that  night  were  Mexi- 


CHRISTMAS  DAY  159 

cans  and  half-breed  Indians,  Englishmen,  Irishmen, 
Scotchmen  and  Americans.  There  were  Catholics  and 
Protestants,  Mormons,  and  men  of  no  faith  whatever. 
There  were  four  university-bred  men;  there  were  also 
men  and  women  of  deepest  ignorance;  and  there  were 
many  others  between  these  extremes. 

While  the  voice  of  the  teacher  still  held  their  atten- 
tion, John  Harding  and  Kenneth  Hastings  put  out  the 
lights,  and  picture  after  picture,  illustrating  the  early 
life  of  Christ  (all  copies  of  famous  paintings),  flashed 
upon  the  white  screen.  There  were  exclamations  of 
approval  such  as  these: 

"Did  yez  iver  now?" 

"The  Holy  Mother!     Bless  her!" 

"Oh!— Oh!— Oh!"  in  faint  whispers. 

When  Murillo's  "Holy  Family"  appeared,  there  was 
a  hush.  As  it  disappeared,  some  one  asked  for  it  again. 
After  complying  with  this  request,  the  candles  were  re- 
lighted, and  the  distribution  of  gifts  began.  There  was 
a  subdued  hum  of  interest.  These  men  and  women, 
throwing  aside  care  and  toil  for  an  hour,  were  as  pleased 
as  children. 

As  gifts  were  passed,  many  began  to  realize  what  the 
extra  meetings  at  the  schoolhouse  had  meant.  The  chil- 
dren had  been  making  things,  and  had  made  them  well. 
They  had  been  engaged  in  manual  training,  though  the 
teacher  had  not  called  it  that.  She  was  in  advance  of 
the  age,  and  was  doing  practical  work  in  manual  train- 
ing years  before  the  pedagogues  of  the  land  had  wak- 
ened to  the  necessity  of  training  the  hand. 

The  Gila  children  had  made  gingham  aprons  for 
mothers  and  sisters;  they  had  crocheted  lace  and  mats; 
they  had  made  articles  for  domestic  use,  and  so  on. 

When  a  new  blouse  waist  and  a  pair  of  suspenders 


160  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

were  given  to  "Wathemah,  his  delight  knew  no  bounds. 
Kenneth  and  Jack  Harding  stood  watching  him.  The 
child  was  a  favorite  with  both. 

' 'Do  you  like  your  waist,  little  chap?"  asked 
Kenneth. 

"Yes!— Me!— Pretty!"  said  the  child,  patting  and 
smoothing  his  waist  as  if  it  were  an  object  of  affection. 
Then  he  held  his  suspenders  up  for  his  two  friends  to 
see. 

"Do  you  like  'em,  sonny?"  asked  Jack  Harding. 

1 '  Mine !  Mine !  —  S  'penders !  —  Wathemah 's  s  'pen- 
ders!" 

The  grown-ups  smiled.  The  day  had  unlocked  many 
a  heart  long  barred  and  bolted  against  human  sympathy. 

"Two  dolls,  one  for  Nora  and  one  for  Kathleen  Mur- 
phy," called  out  the  superintendent 

"Did  yez  iver?"  said  Patrick,  smiling  with  good 
humor,  from  the  crown  of  his  bristly  head  to  the  extrem- 
ity of  his  bristly  chin. 

Gifts  were  passed  to  right  and  left.  It  seemed  wonder- 
ful so  many  should  be  remembered.  Some  received  their 
gifts  with  undisguised  pleasure, — pleasure  so  out  of  pro- 
portion to  the  intrinsic  value  of  the  gifts,  it  was  pathetic. 
Esther  felt  her  eyes  brimming.  More  than  one  said  to 
her  that  night  that  it  was  the  first  time  he  or  she  had 
ever  received  a  Christmas  present. 

As  yet  Brigham  had  received  no  gifts,  but  he  sat  by 
Wathemah,  apparently  enjoying  what  his  friend  had 
received  as  though  it  had  been  his  own.  But  when 
his  turn  came,  and  his  Beloved  brought  him  three  books 
about  animals,  he  seemed  embarrassed,  and  stammered 
out: 

"For  me?     All  thim  for  me?" 

The  teacher  stood  smiling. 


CHRISTMAS  DAY  161 

"Yes,  for  you,  dear." 

In  a  short  time  he  and  Wathemah,  with  heads  close 
together,  were  lost  in  one  of  these  books. 

Esther  watched  them  from  time  to  time.  It  was  evi- 
dent to  every  one  in  Gila,  that  Brigham  and  Wathemah 
were  very  intimate  friends  of  their  teacher's.  Brigham 
had  confided  to  Kenneth  that  he  was  "intimater  with 
her  nor  anybody  else,  'cause  she  loved  him,  an'  he  loved 
her  best  of  anybody  in  the  world."  He  had  likewise 
confided  to  Kenneth  his  great  desire  to  have  some  animal 
books,  as  he  called  them.  And  Kenneth  had  seen  to  it 
that  he  should  not  be  disappointed. 

Suddenly,  to  her  surprise,  Esther  Bright  was  pre- 
sented with  a  new  chair,  and  was  asked  to  be  seated  in 
it.  The  excitement  of  the  children  rose.  This,  to  them, 
was  the  important  moment  of  the  evening. 

As  one  homely  little  gift  after  another  was  presented 
to  her, — all  the  work  of  children's  hands,  she  spoke 
homely,  loving  words  out  of  her  heart.  Several  coat 
sleeves  were  put  to  a  new  use,  and  some  clean  gingham 
aprons  actually  found  their  way  to  women's  cheeks.  A 
loving-hearted  woman  had  entered  their  lives  and  found 
them  worth  while.  What  wonder  that  she  became  to 
them,  more  than  ever,  what  they  had  called  her  at  first 
in  ridicule,  but  later  in  respect  and  affection  and  rever- 
ence,— the  angel  of  the  Gila? 

When  Esther  Bright 's  lap  was  full  of  gifts,  she  tried 
to  express  what  she  felt.  Her  words  had  vanished,  and 
happy  tears  had  taken  their  place. 

After  her  unsuccessful  effort  to  speak,  Wathemah, 
who  could  hardly  comprehend  her  tears,  ran  to  her,  and 
began  to  wipe  them  away  with  a  sleeve  of  his  new  waist. 
She  slipped  her  arm  about  him  and  drew  him  to  her. 
He  looked  up  questioningly. 


162  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"It's  all  right,  Wathemah,"  she  said,  smiling.  "I 
was  so  happy  I  couldn't  help  crying." 

"Now,"  said  the  superintendent,  "you  are  each  to 
receive  from  Miss  Bright  a  Bible,  a  box  of  candy  and  a 
Christmas  card;  and  from  Mrs.  Carmichael,  some  deli- 
cious Christmas  cookies.  Here,  boys,"  he  said,  beckon- 
ing to  some  of  them,  "pass  these,  will  you?" 

Esther  Bright  herself  took  a  large  panful  of  cookies  to 
the  people  outside  of  the  schoolhouse.  As  she  ap- 
proached a  Mexican,  she  saw  standing  by  him  his  wife, 
a  blanket  Indian,  and  on  her  back,  a  pappoose.  As  she 
passed  the  cakes  to  them,  the  squaw  reached  down  and 
grabbed  two  handfuls  of  them,  devouring  them  raven- 
ously. 

Esther  patted  the  child,  and  smiled  into  the  squaw's 
face,  which  she  could  see  distinctly  in  the  light  that 
streamed  from  the  window. 

"Pappoose?"  she  said  to  the  Indian. 

But  there  was  no  answering  smile  in  the  squaw's  eyes. 
The  "emptiness  of  ages"  was  in  her  face.  It  was  a  face 
Esther  was  to  see  again  under  very  different  circum- 
stances; but  no  premonition  warned  her  of  the  fiery  or- 
deal through  which  she  would  be  called  to  pass. 

Finally  the  multitude  was  fed.  The  boisterous  laugh- 
ter and  the  loud  talk,  within,  seemed  strangely  out  of 
harmony  with  the  solemn  stillness  of  the  night.  The 
moon  sent  a  flood  of  silvery  light  over  the  scene  before 
her;  and,  everywhere,  the  Christmas  fires,  built  by  the 
Mexicans,  were  leaping  skyward.  Esther  stood  watch- 
ing; for  on  far-away  mountains  and  near-by  foothills, 
the  sentinels  of  the  desert  had  become  gigantic  burning 
crosses.  She  had  heard  that  these  were  to  be  a  unique 
feature  of  the  Christmas  celebration,  but  she  was  not 
prepared  for  the  exceeding  beauty  of  it  all.  The  burn- 


CHRISTMAS  DAY  163 

ing  cross  caught  her  fancy.  Suddenly,  she  became  aware 
of  the  presence  of  Kenneth  Hastings. 

" Wonderfully  beautiful, — the  scene, — isn't  it?"  she 
said,  without  turning.  "I  think  I  have  never  seen  any- 
thing more  impressive." 

"Yes,  beautiful.  These  Catholic  Mexicans  have  a  re- 
ligious feeling  that  finds  expression  in  splendor.  Does 
the  burning  cross  have  any  significance  to  you  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  speaking  slowly,  as  she  looked 
toward  one  of  them;  "the  cross,  once  a  symbol  of  ig- 
nominy; but  now  become,  like  the  flaming  cross  on  the 
mountains,  a  symbol  of  light. ' ' 

' '  Miss  Bright, ' '  said  John  Clayton,  from  the  doorway, 
' '  you  are  asked  for. ' ' 

As  she  entered  the  room,  Patrick  Murphy  stepped  for- 
ward. He  raised  his  hand  for  attention.  After  several 
gibes  from  the  men,  and  witty  retorts  on  his  part,  the 
company  quieted  down  again. 

' '  Ladies  an '  gintlemin, ' '  he  said,  flourishing  his  empty 
pipe,  as  he  made  an  elaborate  gesture,  "it's  mesilf  as 
feels  as  we  have  wid  us  a  foine  Christian  lady.  Ez  Oi 
watched  the  picters  av  the  Holy  Mither  this  avenin',  Oi 
sez  ter  mesilf,  sez  Oi,  our  teacher  (the  saints  bliss  her!) 
is  as  lovin'  ter  the  children  av  this  school,  as  is  the 
blissid  Virgin  ter  the  child  in  thim  picters.  Oi  sez  ter 
mesilf,  this  lady  is  as  good  a  Catholic  as  Oi  wish  ter  see. 
An'  she  learns  'em  all  ter  git  on.  Oi'll  sind  ivery  child 
o'  mine  ter  day  school  an'  Bible  school.  Oi  hope  yez'll 
all  do  the  same." 

Mrs.  Murphy's  face  was  a  suppressed  thunder-storm; 
but  Patrick  was  oblivious  of  this  as  he  talked  on. 

"This  was  a  godless  region.  Miss  Bright  come  like  a 
angel  ter  tell  us  av  our  sins.  Oi  belave  the  Lord  sint 
her. 


164  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"See  what  she  done  fur  us!  Her  nate  little  talk  ter 
us,  the  picters  an'  her  prisints.  All  who  wish  ter  thank 
our  koind  frind,  join  wid  me  in  three  cheers  fur  Miss 
Bright!" 

Then  cheer  on  cheer  rose  from  the  people. 

As  Patrick  took  his  seat,  John  Clayton  rose. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "three  cheers  for  our  good  friend, 
Mrs.  Carmichael,  who  made  the  Christmas  cookies. ' ' 

Again  the  hearty  cheers  echoed  on  the  still  night  air. 

But  Mrs.  Carmichael  raised  a  protesting  hand.  She 
didn't  deserve  such  a  compliment,  she  said. 

Then  the  guests  went  their  various  ways.  John 
Harding  covered  the  embers  of  the  fire  and  took  from 
his  teacher's  hands  whatever  she  had  to  carry,  going 
directly  to  the  Clayton  home.  She  and  Kenneth  Hast- 
ings were  the  last  to  leave.  Outside  the  door,  they  stood 
for  a  moment,  watching  the  moonlit  scene.  In  the  dis- 
tance, they  heard  a  man's  rich  voice  singing,  "In  the 
Cross  of  Christ  I  glory."  They  listened.  Then  they 
walked  on  in  silence  for  some  moments,  the  gaze  of  each 
fixed  upon  a  colossal  burning  cross  through  whose  yel- 
low flames  violet,  and  green,  and  red,  and  blue  leaped 
and  died  away,  then  leaped  again. 

"The  cross!"  he  said  at  last.  "How  it  has  gone  in 
the  van  of  civilization!" 

She  stopped  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.  He,  too, 
stopped  and  looked  questioningly  into  her  lifted  face, 
which  he  could  see  but  dimly. 

"The  world  for  Christ!"  she  said,  deeply  moved. 
"It  will  surely  be!  Followers  of  the  wonderful  Naza- 
rene,  filled  and  actuated  by  His  spirit  of  brotherhood,  are 
reaching  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth.  We  shall  live 
to  see  the  awakening  of  nations.  We  shall  live  to  see 
strong  men  and  women  enlisted  on  the  side  of  Christ  to 


CHRISTMAS  DAY  165 

bring  right  and  justice  and  purity  into  life,  God  into 
men's  lives." 

Again  silence. 

"I  know  nothing  of  God,"  he  responded,  ''save  as  I 
see  power  manifested  in  the  physical  world.  I  have  read 
the  Bible  so  little.  I  am  not  intimately  familiar  with 
the  life  and  words  of  Jesus.  Before  meeting  you,  I  had 
always  thought  of  religion  with  more  or  less  con- 
tempt. I  confess  my  ignorance.  But  I  am  learning 
to  know  you.  What  you  are  and  what  you  do  convince 
me  there  is  something  in  your  religion  I  have  not  found. 
I  am  as  untaught  in  spiritual  truth  as  a  babe.  But 
now  I  want  to  learn." 

"I  am  glad  you  do.     Will  you  study  your  Bible?" 

He  did  not  tell  her  he  had  no  Bible,  but  he  promised 
to  study  one. 

"Will  you  pray  too?"  she  asked,  with  a  little  choke 
in  her  voice. 

1  i  Would  you  have  me  read  the  prayers  of  the  church  ? ' ' 

"No;  the  prayer  of  your  own  heart." 

Then  the  man  became  rash. 

' '  The  prayer  of  my  heart  ? "  he  repeated,  with  evident 
emotion.  "The  prayer  of  my  heart?  That  prayer  is 
that  I  may  win  your  love,  and  your  hand  in  marriage. 
That  is  my  religion;  you,  I  worship." 

"Don't!  Don't!"  she  said,  withdrawing  her  hand 
from  his  arm.  ' '  Don 't ;  that  seems  blasphemous. ' ' 

"If  you  could  only  love  me,  I  might  begin  to  compre- 
hend what  you  tell  us  of  the  love  of  God.  I  love  you. 
That  I  know,  I  understand.  You  are  the  embodiment 
of  all  I  hold  sweet  and  dear.  Can't  you  love  me — some- 
time?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  responded.  "What  I  do  know 
surely  is  that  I  do  not  love  you  now.  I  believe  that 


166  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

love  of  the  deep  and  abiding  kind  does  not  fall  at  man's 
feet  as  manna,  nor  does  it  grow  like  a  mushroom  in  a 
night.  It  takes  time  for  the  mighty,  resistless  forces  of 
nature  to  develop  a  single  blade  of  grass.  So  love,  I 
take  it,  must  have  time  to  grow." 

* ' Then  I  may  hope  to  win  your  love  ? "  he  said  eagerly. 

"Oh,  no;  don't  think  of  love.  You  have  my  friend- 
ship; let  us  not  spoil  the  friendship  by  dreaming  of  a 
love  that  I  cannot  give  you. ' ' 

' '  Do  you  believe, ' '  he  asked,  ' '  that  you  will  never  love 
any  other  man?" 

"I  believe  if  such  love  ever  grows  in  my  heart,  I 
shall  walk  in  glory  all  my  days.  It  is  a  sacred  thing, 
and  I  could  never  speak  of  it  lightly,  as  many  do." 

"Good  night,"  he  said,  "and  God  bless  you." 

They  had  reached  the  Clayton  home.  The  door  closed, 
and  Kenneth  was  alone.  He  turned;  and  before  him, 
on  the  foothills,  flamed  the  burning  cross. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  ADOPTION  OP  A  MOTHER 

BOBBIE  had  become  a  personality.  What  is 
more,  he  had  adopted  Esther  Bright  as  his 
mother,  without  any  formalities  of  the  law. 
He  had  found  a  mother  heart,  and  had  taken 
his  place  there  by  the  divine  right  of  love. 
No  one  seemed  to  know  how  it  had  all  come  about;  all 
anyone  knew,  positively,  was  that  Bobbie  suddenly  be- 
gan to  call  his  teacher  ' 'Hither." 

At  first  the  children  laughed  when  Bobbie  would  call 
her  by  this  new  name;  then  the  baby  of  the  school  was 
broken-hearted,  until  the  teacher  had  mended  the  break 
with  kisses  and  tender  words. 

Sometimes  at  midday  recess,  the  drowsy  child  would 
climb  into  Esther's  lap;  and  when  she  would  cuddle 
him,  his  great  blue  eyes  would  look  up  into  hers  with 
a  look  of  content  and  trusting  love.  After  a  while  the 
heavy  lids  would  close,  and  the  flaxen  hair  lie  moist  on 
the  ruddy  forehead.  Then  Bobbie  would  be  laid  on 
an  improvised  bed,  to  finish  his  siesta. 

Day  after  day  went  by,  with  increasing  love  on 
Bobbie's  part,  and  deepening  tenderness  on  the  part  of 
Esther  Bright. 

He  was  not  always  good.  Far  from  it.  He  was  a 
healthy  little  animal,  bright  and  attractive.  His  ac- 
tivity sometimes  got  him  into  trouble.  Then  to  divert 
his  mind,  his  teacher  would  tell  him  little  stories.  When 
she  would  finish,  he  would  say  coaxingly,  "More." 

167 


168  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

After  a  while,  he  would  call  for  certain  stories  she 
had  already  told  him,  and  interrupt  her  all  the  way 
along,  his  face  alive  with  intelligent  interest.  At  last 
he  himself  wanted  to  tell  the  stories  to  his  teacher,  with 
many  interpolations  and  funny  variations. 

But  the  funniest  thing  happened  one  day  when  he 
refused  to  go  home,  and  announced  that  he  would  stay 
with  his  adopted  mother. 

' '  Oh,  no,  Bobbie  dear, ' '  she  said,  placing  her  hand  on 
his  shoulder.  "What  would  your  father  do  without 
you?" 

"He  tan  det  another  wain,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of 
satisfaction. 

"No,  Bobbie,"  insisted  the  teacher;  "you  must  go 
home. ' ' 

Still  he  refused.  Then  all  his  Scotch  stubbornness 
asserted  itself.  He  could  not  be  driven  or  coaxed  home. 
And  when  the  older  children  tried  to  carry  him,  he 
kicked  and  screamed  and  fought,  till  he  had  freed  him- 
self. He  ran  to  his  teacher  with  heart-rending  sobs. 
She  sent  the  other  children  home,  and  took  him  in  her 
arms.  Gradually  his  sobs  ceased  and  he  fell  asleep. 
His  face  was  wet  with  tears.  In  his  sleep,  great  sighs, 
the  aftermath  of  the  storm,  seemed  to  come  from  his 
innermost  heart. 

The  adopted  mother  sat  with  her  arms  clasped  about 
him.  Such  a  look  of  tender  love  came  into  her  face  as 
one  sometimes  sees  in  the  face  of  a  young  mother,  bend- 
ing over  her  sleeping  babe.  If  ever  Esther  Bright  was 
beautiful,  it  was  at  that  moment.  Kenneth  Hastings 
stood  a  short  distance  away,  watching  her.  He  lifted 
his  hat  and  stood  with  bowed  head.  At  last  he  spoke 
her  name.  She  turned,  and  nodded  toward  the  sleep- 
ing boy  in  her  arms. 


THE  ADOPTION  OF  A  MOTHER  169 

1 '  Come  sit  down, ' '  she  said,  moving  to  make  room  for 
him  on  the  doorstep. 

"You  seem  to  be  a  good  nurse,  too,"  he  responded, 
taking  the  proffered  seat.  "What's  Bobbie  doing  here 
this  time  of  day  ? ' ' 

She  told  him  of  the  child's  decision  to  stay  with 
her,  and  his  refusal  to  go  home,  his  fight,  and  his  stormy 
sorrow.  He  listened,  with  an  amused  twinkle  in  his 
eyes. 

"Poor  little  chap,"  he  said;  "he  has  my  sympathy 
in  refusing  to  be  parted  from  you. ' ' 

She  flushed  slightly. 

"Don't  waste  your  sympathy,"  she  replied  saucily. 
Somehow  that  provoking  smile  of  his  nettled  her.  He 
had  found  her  vulnerable. 

"Bigger  chaps  than  he  feel  the  same  way  towards 
you,"  he  said,  smiling  still. 

He  saw  that  she  was  badly  teased,  and  the  spirit  of 
mischief  led  him  on. 

"Now  I'd  like  to  stay  with  you  always,  myself." 

She  looked  as  though  she  would  annihilate  him. 

"And  what  is  more,  I'd  like  to  change  places  with 
Bobbie  this  very  minute." 

She  rose  suddenly,  but  with  some  effort,  for  the  child 
was  stout  and  heavy  for  his  years. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  he  asked,  looking  ad- 
miringly upon  Bobbie. 

"I'm  going  to  carry  him  home." 

"How  cruel  to  Bobbie!"  he  said,  stepping  near  her 
and  extending  his  arms  for  the  child.  "Let  me  carry 
him,  do." 

"I  can  carry  him  myself,  thank  you,"  she  said,  with 
a  sudden  air  of  independence. 

Again  she  saw  his  look  of  amusement,  and  struggled 


170  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

with  her  heavy  load,  knowing  full  well  that  she  could 
not  carry  him  far. 

"No,  you  must  not  carry  him/'  he  said  firmly.  "He 
is  too  heavy  for  you."  And  without  more  ado,  he 
took  Bobbie  from  her  arms. 

"Come,"  he  said  amicably,  "we'll  both  take  him 
home — to  Mrs.  Carmichael's. " 

So  on  they  trudged.  Bobbie  roused  a  moment,  but 
seeing  a  familiar  face,  he  reached  up  his  grimy  hand 
and  patted  the  bronzed  cheeks,  then  cuddled  comfortably 
into  the  strong  arms. 

' '  So  Bobbie  wanted  to  stay  with  you, ' '  he  was  saying. 

"Yes,  he  calls  me  mither,  you  know." 

"I'd  like  to  call  you  'mither'  myself  some  day.  It's 
a  beautiful  name." 

She  felt  provoked  with  herself.  Why  in  the  world 
had  she  made  that  unfortunate  remark? 

"You  love  children,  don't  you?"  He  was  not  smiling 
now. 

"Oh,  yes;  from  my  childhood  up  I  have  loved  every 
child  I  have  seen." 

"I  see." 

But  at  this  juncture  Bobbie  again  roused,  rubbed  his 
eyes  and  demanded  to  be  put  down.  So  Kenneth  set 
him  on  his  feet.  The  little  lad  stood  in  sleepy  bewilder- 
ment a  moment,  then  with  an  engaging  smile,  offered  one 
hand  to  Esther,  and  the  other  to  Kenneth.  He  began  to 
chatter. 

"Bobbie  loves  his  mither." 

"So  do  I,"  responded  Kenneth. 

Esther  bit  her  lip.  She  would  not  look  up.  But 
she  felt  her  cheeks  flush. 

"Mr.  Kenneth  love  Bobbie's  mither?" 

Kenneth  laughed,  a  free,  happy  laugh.     It  was  con- 


THE  ADOPTION  OF  A  MOTHER          171 

tagious,  and  the  child  laughed  too.  So  did  Esther  in 
spite  of  herself. 

"Mr.  Kenneth  tan't  love  Bobbie's  mither." 

"Can't,  eh?"  Again  the  happy  laugh.  "Who  says 
I  can't?" 

"I  do,  his  adopted  mother,"  said  the  girl,  demurely. 

"I'll  just  capture  you  the  way  Bobbie  did,  and  you 
can't  help  yourself."  And  again  the  stern  eyes  that 
seldom  smiled,  were  filled  with  laughter. 

Esther  suddenly  stopped. 

"I  can  take  Bobbie  home." 

"So  can  I,"  he  said  carelessly,  with  a  suggestion  of 
laughter  still  in  his  voice. 

"I  command  you,  Mr.  Persistency,  to  turn  about  and 
leave  me  to  take  Bobbie  home." 

"I  refuse  to  obey,  Miss  Obstinacy."    A  low  chuckle. 

"I  suppose  I'll  have  to  endure  you,  then,"  she  said, 
with  mock  seriousness. 

"I  suppose  you  will,"  he  said.  He  seemed  to  enjoy 
the  tilt.  "But  Miss  Bright—."  He  stood  still  and 
faced  her.  " — I  didn't  know  you  were  such  a  fighter. 
Here  I  have  been  trying  to  make  you  understand  how  I 
appreciate  you,  and  you  almost  give  me  a  black  eye. ' ' 

"You  had  two  before — ever  you  saw  me,"  she  said. 

"You  have  looked  into  them,  then,"  he  said,  mali- 
ciously, "so  that  you  know  their  color?" 

He  was  provokingly  confident  in  his  manner.  Sud- 
denly she  stopped  again.  They  were  almost  at  Mrs. 
Carmichael's  door,  and  Robert  Duncan's  shack  was  not 
far  away. 

"Really,  Mr  Hastings,"  she  said,  resuming  a  serious 
tone,  "I  do  wish  you  would  leave  me." 

"No,"  he  persisted,  "I  am  going  to  see  you  safely 
home." 


172  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

Mrs.  Carmichael  met  them  at  the  door.  Donald  had 
already  reached  home,  and  had  told  her  of  Bobbie's 
refusal  to  return  with  him.  She  patted  the  little  one 
on  the  head.  He  was  an  attractive  little  boy,  and  it 
was  evident  Mrs.  Carmichael  loved  him.  She  stooped 
and  extended  her  arms,  and  the  child  ran  into  them. 

"So  my  Bobbie  was  nae  coming  home  tae  his  auntie? 
What'd  I  dae  wi'oot  him?" 

Bobbie  hung  his  head  and  then  said  softly : 

"Bobbie  hae  found  a  mither." 

The  call  was  prolonged  in  order  to  get  Bobbie  into 
a  staying  frame  of  mind.  At  last  they  spied  Robert 
Duncan  approaching  his  shack,  when  Kenneth  stepped 
over  to  tell  him  of  Bobbie's  decision  and  afternoon  ex- 
perience. At  first  the  man  smiled,  then  the  tears 
trickled  down  his  face. 

"Puir  bairn,  puir  bairn,"  he  said,  huskily.  Kenneth 
laid  a  kindly  hand  on  his  shoulder.  He  knew  that  Dun- 
can was  disheartened,  and  had  spent  much  time,  lately, 
in  the  saloons. 

"Come,"  he  said.  "Come  get  the  little  chap.  It  is 
evident  he  misses  his  mother." 

"Yes,  he  misses  her,  an'  I  miss  her.  I'll  gie  mair 
time  tae  him." 

So  saying,  he  accompanied  Kenneth  to  the  Carmichael 
home  and  soon  Bobbie  was  in  his  father's  arms. 

The  call  of  Kenneth  and  Esther  drew  to  a  close. 

As  the  two  walked  briskly  toward  the  camp,  Esther 
Bright  paused  from  time  to  time  to  draw  in  great 
breaths  of  air,  and  to  drink  in  the  glory  of  the  world 
about  her. 

"Come,"  her  companion  said,  "we  shall  be  late  to 
dinner.  Did  you  know  I  am  invited  to  dine  with  the 
Claytons  to-night?"  : 


THE  ADOPTION  OF  A  MOTHER          173 

"Really!"  She  tossed  back  the  curls  the  stiff  breeze 
had  blown  across  her  eyes. 

"Really!"  he  echoed,  in  a  tone  of  mockery.  "Miss 
Bright,  pardon  me,  but  you — "  He  paused. 

' '  Well  ? "  she  said.     "  What  about  you  ?  " 

"You  look  altogether  charming." 

She  stopped.     He  walked  on. 

"You  are  perfectly  incorrigible,"  she  called.  "Un- 
less you  promise  to  talk  sense,  I'll  not  go  a  step  further 
with  you." 

He  turned. 

"Sense?"  he  said  with  mock  seriousness,  "that's 
what  I  have  been  talking  when  in  your  society  all  these 
weeks  past.  And  here  you  make  me  play  second  fiddle 
to  Jack  Harding,  Wathemah  and  Bobbie." 

"And  you  prefer  to  be  first  fiddle?" 

"Of  course!" 

She  seemed  in  high  spirits,  ready  for  a  tilt. 

"Do  be  sensible,"  she  said  gayly. 

"Sensible?  I  was  never  more  sensible  in  my  life." 
He  made  a  long  face. 

' '  Unfortunate  man ! ' '  She  sighed,  as  though  his  con- 
dition were  utterly  hopeless. 

He  laughed. 

"Miss  Bright!" 

"Mr.  Hastings!" 

( i  I  have  been  thinking ! ' ' 

"Marvelous!"     She  seemed  like  some  mocking  sprite. 

"Why  don't  you  ask  what  I  am  thinking  about?" 
He  seemed  provokingly  cool. 

"Because  you  are  just  dying  to  tell  me."  She  was 
piquant. 

"I  vow  I'm  not.     I  won't  tell  you!" 

"All  right,"  she  returned,  quickening  her  pace. 


174  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

" Really,  now,  don't  you  wish  to  know  what  I  have 
been  thinking  about?"  He  stepped  nearer  to  her. 

"I'm  not  the  least  bit  concerned,"  she  answered  with 
airy  indifference.  "I  wouldn't  know  for  anything." 

"Then  I'll  tell  you.  I  was  just  thinking  what  fun 
it  would  be  to  meet  you  in  society,  and  have  a  rattling 
flirtation  with  you." 

' '  Indeed ! "  She  lifted  her  head.  ' '  You  'd  find  Greek 
had  met  Greek." 

" I've  no  doubt.     That  would  be  the  fun  of  it. ' ' 

"And  you  might  die  of  a  broken  heart."  Her  tone 
was  full  of  laughter. 

"That's  what  I'm  doing  already."  He  looked  com- 
ical. "And  you  take  no  pity  on  me." 

"You  might  take  a  dose  of  soothing  syrup."  She 
looked  extremely  solicitous. 

"How  extremely  kind  of  you,  Miss  Bright.  But  my 
malady  is  in  the  region  of  the  heart.  I  suspect  you  think 
I  haven't  a  heart.  But  really,  Miss  Skeptic,  a  heart 
happens  to  be  a  part  of  my  anatomy." 

"I  thought  we  were  to  talk  sense,"  she  reminded 
him. 

Just  then  they  heard  a  familiar  call,  and  turning,  saw 
Lord  Kelwin  hastening  towards  them. 

' '  By  George ! "  he  said,  breathing  hard.  ' '  I  have  been 
trying  to  overtake  you  two  for  a  half  mile.  You  seemed 
to  be  having  a  mighty  good  time." 

"Good  time?"  echoed  Kenneth.  "Miss  Bright  has 
been  abusing  me  all  the  way."  He  assumed  an  in- 
jured air. 

"I  have  no  doubt,  Miss  Bright,  that  Mr.  Kenneth 
enjoyed  the  treatment  he  received,"  remarked  Lord 
Kelwin. 

"Enjoyed  it?"  Kenneth  interjected.     "I  have  been 


THE  ADOPTION  OF  A  MOTHER          175 

a  perfect  martyr  to  feminine  cruelty.  And  would  you 
believe  it?  Miss  Bright  has  been  trying  to  palm  off 
on  me  that  she  is  not  a  daughter  of  Eve. ' ' 

"You  are  a  veritable  son  of  Adam,"  she  rejoined, 
gayly.  "And  to  think  that  I  shall  have  to  endure  you 
at  dinner!" 

"You'll  have  to  endure  another  son  of  Adam,  too," 
interjected  Lord  Kelwin,  "for  I  am  invited  also." 

At  once  new  light  broke  in  upon  Esther. 

"I  believe  you  are  letting  the  cat  out  of  the  bag," 
she  said,  ' '  for  I  am  sure  this  is  intended  to  be  a  surprise 
for  me.  I  have  a  birthday  to-day." 

"A  birthday?"  Kenneth  said.  "Let  me  see—" 
he  said  with  comic  gravity," — you  are  getting  to  be  a 
venerable  lady.  I  presume  you'll  never  see  fifty 


"Oh,  I  assure  you  that  is  altogether  too  young." 
Then  she  turned  to  Lord  Kelwin. 

"Do  you  think  it  proper  to  suggest  such  frivolity  as  a 
flirtation  to  one  of  my  advanced  years?" 

"Highly  improper.  Highly  improper,"  said  the 
Irishman,  "but  I'd  like  a  hand  in  such  a  flirtation 
myself."  He  seemed  to  enjoy  the  nonsense. 

' '  Then  there  would  be  two  victims. ' ' 

"You  and  I?"  questioned  Lord  Kelwin. 

"No;  you  and  Mr.  Kenneth." 

"I  was  just  thinking — ."  Lord  Kelwin  paused,  to 
think  of  something  that  would  make  him  a  score. 

"Thinking!  Thinking!"  as  though  that  were  quite 
incomprehensible.  "Mr.  Hastings  also  claimed  to  be 
thinking. ' ' 

"Better  leave  her  alone,  Kelwin,"  laughed  Kenneth. 
"She  will  have  the  last  word.  She's  like  the  woman 
with  the  scissors." 


176  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"Good  avenin',''  said  a  rich  brogue  just  at  hand. 

' '  How  are  you,  Patrick  ? ' '  said  Kenneth. 

"Well,  sir.  How  are  yez,  Miss?"  He  gave  his 
slouch  hat  a  jerk.  "Good  avenin',  Lord  Kelwin. " 

They  walked  on  together,  and  the  talk  drifted  to  the 
Gila  Club. 

"I'm  really  surprised,  don't  you  know,"  said  Lord 
Kelwin,  i '  at  the  interest  these  fellows  take  in  the  club. ' ' 

"It's  the  first  dacint  thing  the  byes  has  had  ter  go 
to.  Look  at  that  saloon  there!"  he  said,  pointing  to 
an  overgrown  shack,  where  women  of  the  coarsest  type 
presided.  "And  look  at  that  opium  den,"  he  said,  in- 
dicating a  small  building  at  their  right.  ' '  And  see  that 
haythen,"  he  said,  pointing  to  a  female  who  stood  in 
the  door  of  a  saloon,  her  cheeks  painted,  and  puffing 
away  at  a  cigarette.  ' '  Thim  is  the  things  as  has  sint  the 
byes  to  desthruction. " 

Kenneth  Hastings  and  Lord  Kelwin  made  no  reply. 

"If  yez  kape  on,  schoolma 'am, "  continued  Patrick, 
"yez  '11  wipe  out  the  saloons  and  opium  places,  an' 
make  dacint  min  an '  women  out  of  these  poor  crathers. ' ' 
He  nodded  his  head. 

"So  pitifully  sad!"  Esther's  vivacious  mood  sud- 
denly vanished.  She  was  again  grave  and  thoughtful. 

"Aye,"  said  Patrick,  "but  yez  kin  do  it,  Miss,  niver 
yez  doubt  it.  Yez  can  do  it!  Oi  used  ter  go  ter  the 
saloon  mesilf,  but  Oi'll  go  no  more,  no  more.  That's 
what  yez  has  done  fur  me." 

Just  then  Wathemah  came  running  and  leaping  from 
Keith's  saloon.  In  a  moment  he  spied  them,  and  ran 
full  tilt  towards  them. 

"It  makes  me  sick  at  heart,"  Esther  said  in  a  low 
tone  to  Patrick,  "whenever  I  think  of  Wathemah  living 
longer  in  the  saloon." 


THE  ADOPTION  OF  A  MOTHER          177 

"Yez  air  right,  Miss,"  answered  Patrick,  "but  Mis- 
thress  Keith  is  a  purty  dacint  sort  av  a  woman,  and  she 
has  been  good  ter  the  lad." 

"Yes,  I  realize  that.  But  I  wish  I  could  take  him 
myself." 

By  this  time  the  child  was  trudging  along  beside  his 
Beloved. 

Lord  Kelwin  liked  to  tease  him,  and  said  in  a  banter- 
ing tone,  "What  are  you  always  hanging  on  to  Miss 
Bright 's  hand  for,  Wathemah?  She  don't  allow  the 
rest  of  her  admirers  to  do  that. ' ' 

Wathemah  placed  his  other  hand  over  the  hand  he 
clasped. 

"Me  teacher  mine!"  he  said,  defiantly. 

The  men  laughed.  The  teacher  placed  one  hand  on 
the  child's  head.  He  rested  his  cheek  against  her  hand, 
as  he  said  softly,  "Me  mother." 

"Your  mother,  eh?"  Lord  Kelwin  looked  amused. 
' '  I  wish  she  'd  mother  the  rest  of  us. ' ' 

The  child  did  not  understand  the  laughter,  and  fancy- 
ing himself  ridiculed  by  Lord  Kelwin,  turned,  ran  and 
leaped  like  a  squirrel  to  his  shoulder,  and  struck  him 
in  the  face. 

"You  little  savage,"  the  Irishman  said,  angrily,  as 
he  grasped  the  child  and  shook  him. 

"Let  me  settle  with  Wathemah,"  said  Esther,  firmly. 
She  stepped  forward,  and  took  him  by  the  arm,  and 
held  him.  "Go  on,"  she  said  to  the  men,  "I  will 
follow." 

They  sauntered  on,  leaving  her  with  the  refractory 
urchin.  When  she  and  the  child  finally  overtook  them, 
Wathemah 's  face  was  tear-stained. 

Nothing  more  was  said  to  the  child  until  they  reached 
the  Clayton  door. 


178  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"I  guess  you  had  better  go  back  now,  dear,"  Esther 
said,  placing  her  hand  on  Wathemah's  shoulder. 

"No,"  he  said  stoutly,  "Mrs.  Clayton  ask  Wathemah 
he  Miss  Bright  party. ' ' 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  with  sudden  understanding,  "you 
came  to  celebrate  my  birthday,  didn  't  you  ? ' ' 

He  nodded. 

"You  want  me  to  wash  your  face  and  hands,  don't 
you,  Wathemah?"  she  asked.  And  off  she  went  with 
the  child. 

"By  George,"  said  Lord  Kelwin,  "I  never  saw  such 
a  woman." 

"Nor  I,"  returned  Kenneth.  "There  is  no  other 
like  her." 

The  other  whistled,  and  Kenneth  flushed.  His  com- 
panion went  on,  "I'd  like  to  know  if  she  really  has 
a  fortune." 

"Better  ask  her."  Lord  Kelwin  did  not  observe  the 
look  of  contempt  on  Kenneth's  face. 

But  host  and  hostess  had  entered  the  spacious 
room,  and  were  extending  gracious  welcomes. 

"Does  either  of  you  happen  to  know  of  the  where- 
abouts of  Miss  Bright?"  questioned  Mr.  Clayton. 

On  learning  of  her  arrival  with  them,  he  rallied  them 
on  spiriting  her  off.  In  the  midst  of  the  raillery, 
Esther  and  Wathemah  entered  the  room.  The  latter 
found  his  way  at  once  to  Mr.  Clayton's  side,  for  they 
were  great  friends.  The  entrance  of  Esther  was  the 
signal  for  further  badinage. 

"John,  what  do  you  think  of  a  young  lady  who  tells 
her  escort  she  supposes  she'll  have  to  endure  him?" 

"Mr.  Clayton,"  she  said,  with  a  saucy  tilt  of  her 
head,  "what  do  you  think  of  gentlemen  who  tell  a  lady 
they  would  like  to  flirt  with  her?" 


THE  ADOPTION  OF  A  MOTHER          179 

"That  depends, "  he  answered,  with  a  broad  smile, 
"upon  who  the  lady  is.  Now  if  I  were  not  a  staid 
married  man — " 

"You  do  not  answer  my  question,"  she  said.  "You 
introduce  an  altogether  extraneous  matter.  I  asked  you 
what  you  thought  of  gentlemen  who  would  tell  a  lady 
they  would  like  to  flirt  with  her/'  Here  both  Lord 
Kelwin  and  Kenneth  Hastings  tried  to  present  their 
cases.  Esther  raised  her  hand.  "Would  you  not  con- 
sider this  great  frivolity,  Mr.  Clayton?"  And  she  as- 
sumed a  prim,  shocked  expression  so  funny  that  all 
laughed. 

"If  you  wish  to  know  my  candid  opinion,"  he  said, 
with  the  air  of  a  judge,  "I  believe  they  were  within 
the  law;  but,  if  they  were  guilty  offenders,  they  have 
my  sympathy." 

"Wathemah  looked  from  one  to  another  with  a  puzzled 
expression  as  he  listened  to  their  laughter.  He  seemed 
to  sense  the  fact  that  his  Beloved  was  in  some  way  the 
butt  of  their  fun.  In  a  moment  he  had  slid  from  his 
place  on  John  Clayton's  knee,  and  was  standing  lean- 
ing against  Esther. 

"That's  right,  Wathemah,"  she  said,  pretending  to 
be  greatly  injured,  "you  take  my  part." 

"Look  out  here,  young  man,"  said  Lord  Kelwin,  as 
Wathemah  approached  him  with  a  threatening  fist. 
Kenneth  caught  the  child,  and  held  him  close  in  his 
arms,  whispering  to  him, 

"We're  only  fooling,  Wathemah." 

But  he  said  aloud: 

"Did  you  know,  John,  that  Miss  Bright  has  become 
an  adopted  mother?" 

' '  No.     Whom  has  she  adopted  ?    You  ? ' ' 

"Me?    No.     That's  a  good  one.     She's  adopted  Dun- 


180  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

can's  little  boy,  Bobbie.  And  when  I  suggested  that  I'd 
like  to  change  places  with  Bobbie,  she  almost  annihilated 
me." 

All  seemed  to  be  enjoying  the  nonsense. 

"Really,  Miss  Bright,"  continued  Lord  Kelwin,  "I 
think  you  should  be  at  the  head  of  an  orphanage." 

"I  suppose  you'd  like  to  be  chief  orphan,"  sug- 
gested John  Clayton. 

Then  the  talk  drifted  to  serious  themes,  until  dinner 
was  announced.  A  birthday  cake  with  sixteen  lighted 
candles,  in  the  center  of  the  table,  was  the  signal  for 
another  fusillade  of  fun. 

"Sixteen!  sixteen!"  said  Kenneth  Hastings.  "I  ac- 
cused Miss  Bright,  to-day,  of  being  fifty,  and  she  assured 
me  she  was  not  so  young  as  that." 

"Sixteen!  sweet  sixteen!"  said  Lord  Kelwin,  bowing 
low. 

She,  in  turn,  bowed  her  head. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  "our  good  prophet,  Mrs.  Clay- 
ton, cried  out,  and  the  shadow  has  turned  backward 
on  the  dial  of  Ahaz. ' ' 

"It  is  not  so  much  the  number  of  years  we  count  on 
the  dial,  after  all,"  spoke  Mrs.  Clayton,  who  had  thus 
far  listened  smilingly  to  the  others;  "it  is  what  we  live 
into  those  years.  And  you  have  lived  already  a  long 
life  in  your  few  years,  dear  friend." 

"You  are  right,"  Kenneth  rejoined.  "Miss  Bright 
has  lived  more  years  of  service  to  her  fellow  men  in  the 
few  months  she  has  been  in  Gila,  than  I  have  lived  in  my 
thirty  years."  Then,  half  in  jest,  half  in  earnest,  he 
continued,  "I  wish  Miss  Bright  could  have  been  my 
grandmother,  then  my  mother,  then  my — "  He  halted 
in  embarrassment,  as  he  saw  a  deep  blush  sweep  over 
Esther's  face. 


THE  ADOPTION  OF  A  MOTHER          181 

"And  then — "  suggested  Lord  Kelwin,  in  a  pro- 
voking tone — "and  then?" 

"I  should  like  her  for  my  friend." 

"So  say  we  all  of  us,"  rejoined  John  Clayton.  Then 
observing  Esther's  face,  he  changed  the  drift  of  the  con- 
versation. 

' '  How  would  you  good  people  like  to  make  up  a  party 
to  go  to  Box  Canyon  sometime  in  the  near  future  ? ' ' 

"Delightful!"  spoke  several,  simultaneously.  And 
thereupon  they  began  to  describe  for  Esther  the  canyon 
and  what  she  would  see. 

Before  leaving  the  table,  every  wineglass  save  one 
was  filled  with  sherry.  That  glass  was  turned  down. 
John  Clayton  rose  and  lifted  his  glass. 

"Here's  to  our  dear  friend,  Miss  Bright.  May  she 
always  be  sixteen  at  heart,  with  her  ideals  of  life  as 
true  and  as  sweet  as  they  are  now ;  may  the  cares  of  life 
sit  lightly  upon  her;  may  she  be  given  strength  to  do 
all  that  she  will  always  seek  out  and  find  to  do;  may 
the  love  of  the  true  of  heart  enfold  her;  may  the 
Heavenly  Father  keep  her  in  all  her  ways;  may  the 
shadow  ever  turn  backward  on  the  dial." 

And  lifting  their  glasses,  they  drank  to  this  toast. 

Ah,  little  did  they  realize  how  prophetic  in  some  ways 
that  toast  would  prove  to  be,  nor  how  great  was  the  work 
that  lay  before  the  lovely  and  fragile-looking  girl. 
All  were  happy  and  light-hearted;  at  least,  all  save 
Carla  Earle.  She  sat  quiet  and  retiring,  when  her 
duties  were  over.  Wathemah  had  found  refuge  in  her 
lap,  and  his  regular  breathing  assured  her  he  was  fast 
asleep.  So  the  evening  wore  on.  At  last  all  the  guests 
except  Wathemah  had  departed.  The  fire  burned  low. 
And  soon  all  were  asleep  in  the  quiet  house. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
0 

THE    GREAT    TRANSFORMATION 

JOHN  HARDING  seemed  a  new  man.  If  ever 
man  fought  desperately  the  evil  in  his  nature, 
he  did.  It  would  be  foolish  to  say  that  he  be- 
came a  saint.  Far  from  it.  He  was  at  all 
times  very  human. 

All  the  years  of  his  life,  his  deeper  nature  had  been 
lying  fallow.  No  one  had  ever  cared  enough  about 
him  to  suspect  or  discover  its  richness.  Now  some  one 
had  found  him  who  did  care,  and  who  knew  instinc- 
tively what  lay  below  the  forbidding  exterior. 

He  sought  Esther  Bright  with  all  sorts  of  questions, 
many  of  them  questions  a  child  might  have  asked  (for  he 
was  but  a  child  as  yet  in  knowledge  of  many  things) ; 
and  she  poured  out  the  richness  of  her  own  knowledge, 
the  inspiration  of  her  transcendent  faith,  until  the  man 
roused  from  a  long  sleep,  and  began  to  grapple  with 
great  questions  of  life.  He  read,  he  thought,  and  he 
questioned. 

Sometimes,  when  long  away  from  Esther's  influence, 
he  yielded  to  the  temptations  of  the  saloon  again,  and 
drank  heavily.  On  one  of  these  occasions,  he  chanced 
to  cross  her  path  as  he  came  staggering  from  a  saloon. 
He  tried  to  avoid  her,  but  failed. 

"Oh,  Jack,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm, 
"is  this  what  Jesus  would  have  you  do?  Come  home." 

"  'Taint  no  use,"  he  answered,  in  a  drunken  drawl, 
"no  use.  I  ain't  nobody;  never  was  nobody.  Let  me 

182 


THE  GREAT  TRANSFORMATION          183 

be,  I  say.  Nobody  cares  a  blank  for  me."  He  threw 
an  arm  out  impatiently. 

' '  'Sh ! "  she  interrupted.  ' '  Jesus  cares.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Clayton  care.  I  care.  Miss  Edith  cares.  Come  home 
with  me,  John." 

So  saying,  she  led  him  on  to  the  Clayton  ranch. 

After  a  field  has  lain  fallow  many  years,  it  must  be 
turned  and  overturned  again,  in  order  to  yield  an 
abundant  harvest.  So  it  is  with  a  soul. 

John  Harding 's  soul  was  slowly  but  surely  being 
prepared  to  receive  the  seeds  of  truth.  There  were  days 
when  it  seemed  as  though  a  demon  possessed  him.  Then 
he  would  mysteriously  disappear,  and  be  gone  for  days. 
He  always  returned  worn  and  haggard,  but  gentle. 
Then  he  would  seek  Esther  Bright,  and  say  simply : 

"I  have  conquered!" 

He  seemed  to  know  intuitively  that  she  never  lost 
faith  in  him.  He  felt  certain  that  he  would  yet  become 
what  she  wished  him  to  be, — a  true  man.  And  this 
conviction  made  every  battle  with  himself  less  terrible. 
At  last  he  knew  that  the  good  in  him  was  master. 

All  this  did  not  come  about  at  once.  Months  passed 
before  he  knew  that  he  could  feel  sure  of  his  victory. 

In  the  meantime,  the  church  service  had  become  es- 
tablished in  Gila.  Esther  Bright  preached  with  deep- 
ening spiritual  power.  The  cowlasses  now  attended 
regularly.  Other  women,  too,  had  come.  Miners,  dirt 
begrimed,  had  astonished  their  cronies  by  coming  to 
hear  the  teacher  talk.  Even  men  from  the  charcoal  pits 
and  burro  camps  found  their  way  to  the  crowded  room. 

One  Sunday,  the  atmosphere  of  the  meeting  was  so 
remarkable  it  still  stands  out  in  the  memory  of  many 
a  Gilaite  of  those  early  days. 

Esther  Bright  had  preached  on  the  Healing  of  the 


184  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

Lepers.  She  had  told  them  of  the  disease  of  leprosy, 
its  loathsomeness,  its  hopelessness.  Then  she  vividly 
pictured  the  ten  lepers,  the  approach  of  Christ,  and 
their  marvelous  restoration.  She  showed  them  sin,  its 
power  to  degrade  men  and  women,  and  to  weaken  the 
will.  She  urged  the  need  of  God's  help,  and  the  neces- 
sity for  each  one  to  put  forth  his  will  power.  Her  low, 
earnest,  heart-searching  voice  seemed  to  move  many  in 
that  audience.  Again  and  again  rough  hands  brushed 
away  tears  they  were  ashamed  for  others  to  see.  Ah, 
could  there  be  help  for  them!  Could  there! 

The  speaker  seemed  filled  with  a  power  outside  of 
herself,  a  power  that  was  appealing  to  the  consciences  of 
men. 

Kenneth  Hastings,  caught  in  this  great  spiritual  tide, 
was  swept  from  his  moorings,  out,  out,  on  and  away 
from  self,  Godward.  He  rose  and  spoke  with  deep  feel- 
ing. Then  some  one  sang  the  first  stanza  of  ' '  Where  are 
the  Nine?"  The  singing  ceased.  The  Spirit  of  God 
seemed  brooding  over  all.  The  pregnant  silence  was 
followed  by  a  succession  of  marvels.  A  Scotch  miner 
rose  and  said: 

"I  am  a  sinner.     Jesus,  Maister,  hae  mercy  on  me." 

Then  voice  after  voice  was  heard  confessing  sin  and 
praying  for  mercy. 

At  the  close  of  the  service,  there  were  many  touch- 
ing scenes  as  men  and  women  long  hardened  and  bur- 
dened, came  to  this  young  girl  for  words  of  hope  and 
encouragement. 

If  ever  human  being  was  an  instrument  in  the  hands 
of  God,  Esther  Bright  was  that  day. 

The  attendance  at  the  meetings  increased  so  that  the 
schoolhouse  could  no  longer  accommodate  the  people.  It 
was  still  too  cool  to  hold  out-of-door  meetings.  In  the 


THE  GREAT  TRANSFORMATION          185 

midst  of  Esther's  perplexity,  she  received  a  call  from 
one  of  the  saloon  keepers. 

"I  'ave  been  attending  the  meetings,"  he  said,  "and 
see  that  you  need  a  larger  room.  I  'ave  come  to  offer 
you  my  saloon." 

"Your  saloon,  Mr.  Keith?"  she  said,  aghast. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "my  saloon!  I'm  one  of  the  lepers 
ye  told  about  the  other  day.  I  'ave  decided  to  give 
up  the  saloon  business." 

This  was  beyond  Esther's  wildest  dreams. 

"You  have  decided  to  give  up  the  saloon?"  she  said, 
overjoyed.  "I  am  so  glad!  But  how  will  you  make 
your  living?" 

"  I  '11  go  to  minin '  again,  an '  my  wife  '11  keep  boarders. 
She's  glad  to  'ave  me  give  up  the  dram  shop." 

Esther's  eyes  filled  with  happy  tears. 

The  first  Sunday  in  February  had  arrived.  Nearly 
all  vestiges  of  a  saloon  had  disappeared  from  what  had 
been  Keith's  saloon.  Masses  of  mistletoe  and  fragrant 
spruce  had  taken  the  place  of  indecent  pictures.  A 
cabinet  organ,  borrowed  for  the  occasion,  stood  at  one 
side.  A  small  table  served  as  the  speaker's  desk.  The 
billiard  tables  had  disappeared,  and  chairs  now  filled 
the  room. 

The  crowd  that  gathered  about  the  door  the  day 
of  this  first  service  in  the  saloon  was  unusually  large, 
for  word  had  gone  out  that  David  Bright,  the  grand- 
father of  their  pastor,  would  speak  at  the  meeting. 

The  saving  of  the  souls  of  men  had  come  to  be  the 
vital  question  of  the  hour  in  Gila, 

As  the  crowd  caught  sight  of  a  stately  white-haired 
man  accompanying  their  leader,  there  was  a  respect- 
ful hush.  Men  and  women  stepped  aside,  leaving  a 
passage  to  the  door.  The  two  entered.  The  singers 


186  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

were  already  in  their  places.  The  congregation  assem- 
bled, and  the  song  service  began.  At  its  close,  there 
followed  an  impressive  stillness,  broken  only  by  the 
joyous  notes  of  a  Kentucky  cardinal. 

The  aged  preacher  sat  with  bowed  head.  One  would 
hardly  have  been  surprised  to  hear  a  voice  from  on  high. 

At  last  he  rose.  Everyone  looked  intently  into  his 
benevolent,  kindly  face.  Slowly  and  impressively  he 
repeated : 

"Repent  ye;  for  the  kingdom  of  Heaven  is  at  hand." 

He  repeated  the  words  a  second  time,  then  took 
his  seat. 

Again  the  pregnant  silence.  When  David  Bright 
rose  the  second  time,  he  read  Matthew  III.,  and  closing 
his  Bible  spoke  to  them  for  an  hour,  holding  their  un- 
divided attention. 

"Beloved,'*  he  said,  "this  voice  is  speaking  to  us  to- 
day. 'Repent  ye:  for  the  kingdom  of  Heaven  is  at 
hand.'  The  kingdom  comes  to  us  individually.  It 
comes  only  as  men's  hearts  are  prepared  for  it." 

Then  he  carried  his  audience  with  him  as  he  preached 
the  need  of  repentance,  and  Christ's  compassionate  love 
for  every  human  soul.  His  voice  rose  and  fell,  and  the 
roughest  men  listened,  while  down  many  faces  flowed 
repentant  tears.  Oh  miracle  of  miracles, — the  turn- 
ing from  sin  to  righteousness!  Oh  greatest  experience 
of  the  human  heart, — the  entrance  of  the  Divine! 

As  the  godly  man  took  his  seat,  Esther  Bright  rose, 
and  sang,  with  face  shining,  "I  Love  to  Tell  the  Story." 
As  she  sang,  the  notes  of  the  Kentucky  cardinal  burst 
forth,  a  joyous  accompaniment  to  her  glad  song. 

To  the  amazement  of  all,  Ben  Keith  rose  and  said: 

"I  'ave  been  a  sinful  man.  May  God  forgive  me.  I 
repent  me  of  my  sins.  I  'ave  led  men  and  women 


THE  GREAT  TRANSFORMATION          187 

astray  in  this  saloon.  May  God  forgive  me.  I  'ave 
determined  to  turn  face  about,  and  to  lead  an  honest  life. 
I  'ave  sold  my  last  drop  o'  whiskey.  I  'ave  poured  all 
I  'ad  left  on  the  ground.  I  shall  keep  no  more  saloon. 
May  God  'ave  mercy  on  my  soul,  and  on  the  souls  of 
them  as  I  'ave  led  astray." 

A  sob  was  heard.  It  came  from  the  long-suffering 
Mrs.  Keith.  Then  another  stood,  asking  for  prayers; 
then  another,  then  another.  Last  of  all,  David  Bright 
rose,  and  after  speaking  a  few  fatherly  encouraging 
words,  he  dismissed  them  with  the  benediction. 

He  was  soon  surrounded  by  men  waiting  for  a  word, 
a  hand  grasp.  They  asked  for  personal  conferences 
with  him. 

"Let  us  go  down  to  the  timber,"  suggested  Jack 
Harding.  So  together  these  men  strolled  down  to  the 
river  bank. 

"Thou  art  troubled  about  the  unpardonable  sin,  thou 
sayest?"  the  preacher  said  to  a  young  man  walking 
by  his  side. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  youth  addressed.  "I've  been  a 
bad  one,  but  now  I  really  want  to  be  a  Christian.  I 
fear  I  have  committed  the  unpardonable  sin.  Do  you 
suppose — "  he  asked  in  a  voice  that  choked  a  little, 
"that  God  could  pardon  such  a  sinner  as  I  am?" 

"With  God  all  things  are  possible,"  reverently  re- 
plied the  other,  laying  a  kindly  hand  on  the  young 
man's  shoulder.  "The  only  sin  that  seems  to  me  to  be 
unpardonable  is  that  unrighteous  obstinacy  that  forever 
refuses  the  offer  of  salvation." 

And  into  the  old  man's  face  came  an  expression  of 
sorrow. 

"But  if  the  offer  of  salvation  is  forever  passed  ly, 
what  then?"  asked  another. 


188  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"I  believe  the  soul  is  lost." 

''You  mean  the  soul  is  in  a  place  of  fire  and  torment, 
literal  hell  fire?"  asked  the  first  speaker. 

"I  said  I  believe  the  soul  is  lost." 

"Then  you  don't  believe  in  hell?"  asked  another. 

"No,"  answered  David  Bright;  "not  as  some  believe 
in  it, — literal  fire.  Spirit  or  soul  is,  I  believe,  im- 
mortal. It  lives  on.  To  know  God,  and  Jesus  Christ, 
His  Son,  is  eternal  life ;  not  to  know  them  is  death.  To 
obey  the  laws  of  God  here  on  earth  means  a  foretaste 
of  heaven;  to  disobey  them,  means  a  foretaste  of  hell." 

"And  you  think  there  can  be  hell  on  earth?"  asked 
one. 

"Yes:  a  man's  own  evil  mind  and  life  make  for  him 
a  constant  hell." 

"And  you  believe  heaven  may  begin  on  earth?" 

"I  do.  Heaven  is  the  rightful  heritage  of  the  soul. 
Heaven  is  accord  with  the  Divine.  It  is  the  natural 
environment  of  the  soul.  It  is  more  natural  to  do  right 
than  wrong.  It  is  evil  environment  that  perverts  the 
soul." 

They  seated  themselves  on  a  dead  tree  trunk. 

"Here,"  said  David  Bright,  laying  his  hand  on  the 
fallen  tree,  "you  see  an  illustration  of  what  happens 
to  many  a  life.  Its  environment  has  brought  a  para- 
site that  lays  hold  upon  the  life  of  the  tree,  saps  its 
strength,  and  decay  follows.  Destructive  agencies  in  a 
sinful  environment  lay  hold  of  human  life,  sap  its 
strength,  and  moral  decay  follows.  Many  a  strong  man 
has  fallen  as  has  this  magnificent  tree.  Nothing  can 
revitalize  the  tree  once  fallen  into  decay;  but,  thanks 
be  to  God,  there  is  a  force  that  can  revitalize  the  human 
being  long  after  he  seems  dead  and  lost  to  the  world, 
and  that  is  the  redemptive  power  of  Jesus  Christ.  There 


THE  GREAT  TRANSFORMATION          189 

is  no  other  name  under  heaven  given  among  men 
whereby  we  must  be  saved/' 

The  look  of  one  who  bears  the  sorrow  of  his  race 
upon  his  heart  came  into  the  beautiful  face.  And  the 
men  watched  him  with  deepening  reverence  for  their 
kind. 

One  who  had  thus  far  been  silent  spoke. 

"But  if  the  soul  is  immortal,  spiritual  death  cannot 
come. ' ' 

The  old  man  looked  keenly  into  the  young  man's 
eyes.  He  spoke  with  deepest  conviction  as  he  said: 

"I  believe  there  is  almost  no  limit  to  the  possibilities 
of  the  mind  and  soul  to  him  whose  ideals  are  high, 
whose  courage  is  great,  and  who  holds  himself  to  the 
very  highest  ideals  of  living.  Christ  paved  the  way 
for  such  a  life  for  every  young  man.  That  sort  of  life 
is  real  living,  for  it  means  constructive  work  in  the  world. 
It  means  growth,  immortality. 

"To  come  short  of  what  one  might  be,  steadily,  in- 
creasingly, brings  moral  deterioration,  atrophy; — to  my 
mind,  the  saddest  form  of  death.  It  is  life  to  grow  to- 
ward the  Divine.  My  son,  it  will  soon  be  too  late.  Turn 
Godward  now.  Shall  we  pray?" 

Then  up  to  the  throne  of  God  went  a  prayer  for  these 
young  men, — sons  of  parents  who  had  long  ago  lost  their 
grip  on  them. 

For  about  two  weeks,  religious  meetings  were  held 
daily.  Night  after  night  the  room  was  crowded.  The 
services  consisted  of  talks  by  David  Bright,  songs,  short 
prayers  and  testimony.  Sometimes  several  men  and 
women  would  be  on  their  feet  at  once,  eager  to  voice 
their  repentance,  and  to  testify  of  God's  mercy. 

The  interest  did  not  end  here.  Down  in  the  mines, 
brief  meetings  were  held  daily  at  the  noon  hour.  One 


190  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

group  of  miners  would  start  a  hymn;  then  way  off, 
another  group  would  catch  up  the  refrain.  On  many 
lips  the  oath  or  unclean  story  died  unspoken. 

Men  sought  David  Bright  as  they  would  a  father  con- 
fessor, pouring  the  story  of  their  lives  into  his  kind  and 
sympathetic  ear.  They  seemed  to  know  intuitively  that 
he  was  a  man  of  God.  What  mattered,  if  he  were 
Catholic  or  Protestant?  He  found  men  evil,  and  left 
them  good. 

And  Esther  Bright 's  influence  was  hardly  less  marked. 
Her  deep  spirituality  made  her  a  great  power  for  right- 
eousness. 

John  Harding  seemed  scarcely  less  interested  in  sav- 
ing men's  souls  than  she.  "Giving  men  a  chance,"  he 
called  it.  He  went  from  mining  camp  to  mining  camp, 
carrying  the  tidings  of  salvation,  and  urging  men  to 
repent.  And  those  who  heard  him  not  only  came  to  the 
meetings,  but  began  to  bring  others  also.  And  so  the 
work  grew. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  David  Bright 's  second  week  in 
Gila  that  the  most  impressive  meeting  was  held.  At 
its  close,  the  aged  evangelist  bade  them  farewell.  Then 
they  crowded  about  him,  thanking  him  for  all  he  had 
done  for  them,  and  asking  him  to  remember  them  in 
his  prayers. 

Kenneth  Hastings  was  the  last  to  speak  with  him.  He 
asked  for  a  personal  interview.  Then  arm  in  arm,  they 
strolled  up  the  mountain  road. 

What  was  said  during  that  interview  no  one  ever 
knew.  But  when  the  two  returned  to  Clayton  Ranch, 
David  Bright  walked  with  his  hand  resting  on  the  young 
man's  shoulder.  Esther  heard  her  grandfather  say 
to  him: 

"I  honor  thee  for  it,  my  son.     I  believe  under  the 


THE  GREAT  TRANSFORMATION          191 

same  circumstances,  I  should  feel  as  thou  dost.  It  is 
a  serious  question." 

Kenneth  said  something  in  reply  that  did  not  reach 
Esther's  ears.  She  heard  her  grandfather  speaking 
again : 

"Yes,  she  is  an  unusual  woman,  as  thou  sayest.  She 
has  always  been  a  delightful  character,  and  Christlike 
in  her  purity.  She  is  compassionate  and  loving  be- 
cause she  has  always  walked  in  the  Master's  steps. " 

The  two  men  entered  the  house,  and  John  Clayton 
advanced  to  greet  them. 

' '  That  was  a  great  meeting, ' '  he  said. 

"Yes,"  David  Bright  replied,  "God  has  touched  the 
hearts  of  the  people." 

He  sat  down  by  his  granddaughter,  put  his  arm  about 
her,  and  drew  her  to  him. 

"The  field  is  white  unto  the  harvest,  Beloved,"  he 
said,  looking  into  her  upturned  face. 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  the  harvest  yet,  Grandfather," 
she  said  simply.  "We  have  been  getting  the  soil  ready 
to  sow  good  seed  at  every  opportunity.  We  are  on 
the  verge  of  the  growing  time." 

"Well,  well,  as  you  will,  little  philosopher,"  he  said, 
releasing  her. 

It  was  a  lovely  picture  to  see  the  two  side  by  side. 
The  white  head  of  the  one  suggested  a  life  work  near 
completion;  while  the  golden  brown  of  the  other,  sug- 
gested life's  work  at  its  beginning.  Happy  would  it 
be  if  godly  and  beautiful  age  could  give  up  its  un- 
finished tasks  to  those  who  are  content  to  prepare  the 
soil,  and  sow  good  seed,  intent  on  the  growing  time ! 

The  social  hours  in  the  Clayton  home  that  day  were 
ones  to  be  long  remembered.  David  Bright  was  a  man 
enriched  from  many  sources.  He  gave  himself  to 


192  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

his  companions  in  intercourse  as  rare  as  it  was  beauti- 
ful. Conversation  had  never  become  to  him  a  lost  art; 
it  was  the  flowering  out  of  the  life  within. 

And  Kenneth  Hastings  listened.  If  he  had  only  had 
such  a  father!  He  was  beginning  to  see  it  all  now, — 
life's  great  possibility. 

At  last  he  was  drawn  into  the  conversation. 

"I  hardly  know,"  he  responded  to  a  question  from 
David  Bright.  How  many  things  he  now  realized  he 
' '  hardly  knew ! ' '  How  vague  a  notion  he  had,  anyhow, 
of  many  questions  affecting  the  destiny  of  the  human 
race!  He  thought  aloud: 

' '  You  see  Mr.  Bright,  I  was  reared  in  a  worldly  home, 
and  I  was  brought  up  in  the  Church  of  England.  My 
religion  is  simply  a  beautiful  ritual.  But,  further  than 
that,  I  know  nothing  about  it.  I  never  felt  any  interest 
in  religion  until—  "  here  his  face  flushed  " — until  your 
granddaughter  came.  She  found  me  a  heathen — " 
He  hesitated,  and  glancing  toward  Esther,  caught  her 
glance.  How  lovely  she  was!  As  he  hesitated,  David 
Bright  finished  his  sentence,  smiling  genially  as  he  did 
so. 

1  'And  made  you  a  Christian,  I  hope." 

' '  I  fear  not.     I  am  plagued  with  doubts. ' ' 

"You  will  conquer  the  doubts,"  responded  David 
Bright,  "and  be  stronger  for  the  struggle.  Triumphant 
faith  is  worth  battling  for. ' ' 

"Well,"  said  Kenneth,  "I  feel  that  I  am  adrift  on 
a  great  sea.  If  anyone  pilots  me  to  a  safe  harbor,  it 
will  be  your  granddaughter." 

"No,"  she  said,  looking  into  his  face  with  a  sudden 
radiance  in  her  own,  "but  the  Man  of  Galilee." 

And  so  the  talk  drifted,  talk  where  each  one  could 
be  himself  and  speak  out  of  his  innermost  heart,  and  not 


THE  GREAT  TRANSFORMATION          193 

be  misunderstood.  So  blessed  is  friendship  of  the  higher 
sort. 

The  day  passed  and  the  morrow  dawned.  Then  David 
Bright  journeyed  eastward  again,  to  minister  to  the 
world's  unfortunate  ones. 

He  left  behind  him  in  Gila  an  influence  that  men 
speak  of  to  this  day.  But  to  no  one,  probably,  did  his 
coming  mean  more  than  to  John  Harding.  John's 
transformation  was  now  complete.  He  became  the  self- 
appointed  evangelist  to  numbers  of  unfortunate  and 
tempted  men.  He  had  risen  in  the  scale  of  life,  and 
had  become  a  Man! 


CHAPTER  XV 

SOME  SOCIAL  EXPERIENCES 

ONE  evening  about  the  middle  of  February, 
Kenneth  Hastings  called  at  the  Clayton 
home.  After  a  few  moments  of  general 
conversation,  he  turned  to  Mrs.  Clayton 
and  begged  to  be  excused  from  his  engage- 
ment to  accompany  them  to  Box  Canyon. 

1  'Oh,  Mr.  Kenneth,"  protested  Edith. 

"I  am  sorry,  Edith,"  he  said,  turning  to  her,  ''but 
I  leave  to-morrow  for  England." 

"For  England!"  ejaculated  Esther  in  astonishment; 
for  she  knew  that  a  visit  to  England  had  been  remote 
from  his  thoughts  the  last  time  she  had  talked  with  him. 

"Nothing  wrong  at  home,  I  hope,  Kenneth?"  said 
John  Clayton,  kindly. 

"My  uncle  cabled  me  that  my  parents  were  killed  in 
an  accident.  It  is  imperative  that  I  go  at  once." 

He  paused.  John  Clayton  reached  over  and  laid  a 
hand  on  his  arm.  Mrs.  Clayton  spoke  a  few  words  of 
sympathy;  but  Esther  Bright  sat  silent.  How  she  had 
urged  him  to  make  his  parents  a  visit!  How  he  had 
rebuffed  her,  saying  they  cared  nothing  for  him!  She 
remembered  his  saying  that  he  had  always  been  starved 
for  a  mother's  love.  Too  late  now  to  give  or  to  receive. 

She  felt  Kenneth  looking  at  her,  expecting  her  to  say 
some  word.  She  seemed  suddenly  dumb.  At  last  she 
heard  him  speak  her  name.  He  hesitated,  then  con- 
tinued : 

194 


SOME  SCHOOL  EXPERIENCES  195 

"I  wish  I  had  gone  when  you  suggested  it,  Miss 
Bright. " 

He  bowed  his  head  upon  his  hand. 

"I  wish  you  had  gone,"  she  said,  simply.  "It  might 
have  been  a  comfort  to  you. ' ' 

After  awhile  he  spoke  cheerfully  of  his  return,  and 
of  what  they  would  do. 

"Don't  let  Miss  Bright  work  too  hard/'  he  said,  smil- 
ing gravely.  "She  does  enough  work  for  five  men." 

"I  shall  miss  your  help,"  was  all  she  said.  But  she 
felt  a  sudden  longing  to  comfort  him.  Into  her  face 
flashed  a  look  of  sympathy.  He  knew  it  was  for  him. 

"It  almost  makes  me  homesick,  Kenneth,  to  hear  you 
talk  of  going  home,"  said  Mrs.  Clayton.  "England 
always  will  seem  home  to  me,"  she  added,  turning  to 
Esther. 

"It  is  a  beautiful  country  to  call  home,"  responded 
the  New  England  girl.  "I  love  England." 

They  talked  till  late,  Kenneth  receiving  message  after 
message  from  them  to  kindred  and  friends  across  the 
sea. 

He  rose  to  go,  taking  leave  of  Esther  last  of  all. 
Then  he  turned  to  her  with  both  hands  extended.  She 
placed  her  own  in  his.  He  drew  her  towards  him,  and 
without  a  word,  turned  and  was  gone. 

Esther  withdrew,  and  Edith  and  Carla  soon  followed, 
leaving  John  Clayton  and  his  wife  seated  before  the  fire- 
place. 

"Well,  John!"  said  the  wife. 

"Well,  my  dear?"  responded  the  husband,  apparently 
surmising  what  was  coming. 

1 '  Kenneth  loves  Miss  Bright. ' ' 

"Well,  is  this  the  first  time  you  have  suspected  that?" 
As  though  he  had  always  suspected  it. 


196  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 


"No!    But—" 

"But  what?" 
<  < 


Is  he  worthy  of  her,  John?" 

"Don't  be  foolish,  Mary.  Kenneth  is  a  true  and 
honorable  man.  Yes — "  pausing  to  listen  to  her  ex- 
postulations,— "I  know  he  used  to  drink  some;  but  I 
never  saw  him  intoxicated.  He  played  cards  as  we  do 
here,  and  when  he  was  in  the  company  of  men  who 
gambled,  he  gambled  too." 

"But  morally,  John.  It's  goodness  that  a  woman 
cares  most  about.  Is  he  all  right  morally  ? ' ' 

He  drew  his  chair  close  to  hers. 

"I  believe  Kenneth  to  be  clean  morally.  If  he  had 
been  immoral  here,  I  should  have  known  of  it.  And  yet 
he,  like  the  other  men,  has  been  surrounded  by  tempta- 
tion. What  is  gross  does  not  appeal  to  him.  I  have 
never  known  him  to  speak  lightly  of  any  woman.  For 
you  and  Edith  he  has  the  deepest  respect ;  for  Carla,  he 
has  the  utmost  compassion;  and  for  Miss  Bright,  (bless 
her!)  he  has  a  reverence  I  have  never  seen  any  man  show 
to  any  woman. ' ' 

"Then  he  loves  her,   doesn't  he?" 

"He  never  told  me  so,"  he  answered,  smiling;  "I 
doubt  if  he  has  told  her." 

"But  after  that  good-by  to-night,"  she  persisted,  "I 
know  he  loves  her. ' ' 

"I  hope  he  does,  Mary,  and  that  she  cares  for  him. 
I  don't  see  how  she  could  help  it.  I'd  like  to  see  them 
happy, — as  happy  as  you  and  I  are,  Mary." 

He  leaned  toward  her,  resting  his  cheek  against  hers. 

"As  happy  as  we  are,  Beloved.  Twenty  years 
married.  Am  I  right?  And  lovers  still." 

"Yes,  twenty  happy  years,"  she  said,  "twenty  happy 
years.  But,  John,  do  you  think  Miss  Bright  would  make 


SOME  SCHOOL  EXPERIENCES  197 

Kenneth  happy?  Would  she  give  up  her  philanthropic 
ideas  to  devote  herself  to  one  ordinary  man?" 

"Oh,  that's  what's  troubling  you  now,  is  it?"  he 
asked,  laughing  outright.  Then  he  spoke  seriously : 

"I  believe  Miss  Bright  could  and  would  make  Ken- 
neth supremely  happy.  You  know  she  is  domestic  in 
her  tastes,  and  I  believe  home  would  always  be  her  first 
consideration.  But  she  is  such  a  broad,  public  spirited 
woman  she  would  always  be  a  public  benefactor.  And 
Kenneth  is  not  an  ordinary  man.  You  know  that  well. 
He  is  superior.  I  do  not  know  of  any  man  for  whom  I 
have  such  a  strong  friendship." 

"I  like  Kenneth,  too,"  she  admitted.  "But  I  was 
just  thinking." 

He  rose  and  covered  the  embers  for  the  night. 

"Better  leave  them  alone,"  he  suggested.  "Their 
story  is  so  beautiful  I'd  not  like  to  have  it  spoiled." 

"John!" 

"Yes,  Mary." 

"I  just  thought  of  something!" 

"Remarkable!    What  did  you  think  of?" 

"Kenneth  will  inherit  a  large  fortune,  won't  he?" 

"Of  course." 

"That  might  change  his  plans." 

"I  think  not.  He  loves  America,  and  the  woman  he 
loves  is  here.  He  will  return.  Come!  Let's  to  sleep." 

The  going  of  Kenneth  Hastings  brought  a  shadow 
over  the  household.  His  departure  was  likewise  the 
signal  for  frequent  calls  from  Lord  Kelwin.  It  grew 
more  apparent  that  he  felt  a  marked  interest  in  the 
teacher.  But  whether  she  felt  a  corresponding  interest 
in  him,  no  one  could  have  determined.  A  few  times 
she  went  horseback  riding  with  him.  He  assured  her 
she  was  becoming  an  excellent  horsewoman. 


198  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

Lord  Kelwin  now  became  a  constant  attendant  at  the 
meetings  of  the  club,  on  all  of  which  occasions  he  was 
Esther's  self-appointed  escort. 

Once  he  ventured  a  remark  about  how  it  happened 
that  a  woman  of  her  rank  and  fortune  and  accomplish- 
ments should  be  teaching  in  a  mining  camp. 

"My  rank?  My  fortune?  My  accomplishments?" 
she  repeated,  mystified. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  patronizingly,  "a  lady  of  rank  and 
fortune.  I  have  met  several  Americans  of  fortune, — 
great  fortune, — in  London  and  Paris — ah — I — " 

"But  I  am  not  a  woman  of  rank  and  fortune,  Lord 
Kelwin.  I  am  just  a  plain  working  woman." 

He  did  not  observe  the  amused  smile  about  her  eyes 
and  mouth.  "You  are  not  likely  to  find  women  of  rank 
and  fortune  in  a  mining  camp." 

"It's  wonderful  how  much  these  American  heiresses 
think  of  titles,  don't  you  know,  Miss  Bright.  Why,  a 
man  of  rank  can  marry  almost  any  American  girl  he 
pleases. ' ' 

"Just  so,"  she  assented.  "He  wins  a  fortune  to  pay 
his  debts,  and  squander  otherwise;  and  she  wins  a  title, 
dragged  into  the  dust  by  a  degenerate  nobleman,  plus 
enough  unhappiness  to  make  her  miserable  the  rest  of 
her  life.  An  interesting  business  proposition,  truly!" 

"Why,  really,  Miss  Bright, — ah — I — ah — I  fear  you 
grow  sarcastic. ' ' 

"Really!  Did  you  discern  any  approach  to  sarcasm 
in  my  remarks?  I  am  surprised!" 

He  was  not  prepared  for  the  mockery  in  her  voice, 
nor  for  something  about  her  that  made  him  feel  that 
she  was  his  superior.  Before  he  could  formulate  a  suit- 
able reply,  one  quite  in  accord  with  his  sentiments  and 
feelings,  she  continued:  ( 


SOME  SCHOOL  EXPERIENCES  199 

"We  shall  doubtless  live  to  see  a  social  evolution. 
The  American  man  of  genius,  and  force,  and  character 
is  too  intent  on  his  great  task  of  carving  out  a  fortune, 
or  winning  professional  or  artistic  distinction,  to  give 
his  days  and  nights  to  social  life. 

"Now  there  are  noblewomen  of  the  Old  "World  who 
are  women  of  real  distinction,  vastly  superior  to  many 
men  of  their  class,  and  who  have  not  been  spoiled  by 
too  great  wealth  simply  because  their  profligate  brothers 
have  squandered  the  family  fortunes. 

"Now  it  occurs  to  me  that  it  might  be  a  great  thing 
for  the  progress  of  the  human  race,  if  the  finest  noble- 
women of  the  Old  World,  who  are  women  of  intellect, 
and  culture,  and  character,  should  seek  in  marriage  our 
men  of  brains  and  character. 

"The  time  has  come  when  the  American  man  of  the 
highest  type  needs  something  more  than  a  fashion  plate 
or  a  tailor's  model  for  his  mate." 

' '  And  have  you  no  American  women  who  could  match 
your  paragons,  your  American  tradesmen?"  he  asked, 
contemptuously. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  replied.  "We  have  fine  and  noble 
American  women.  I  was  just  thinking  how  the  Old 
World  could  be  invigorated  by  the  infusion  of  fresh 
blood  from  the  vital,  progressive  New  World.  Just 
think  of  a  brainy,  womanly  Lady  Somebody  of  England, 
refusing  to  ally  herself  with  an  inane,  worthless  noble- 
man of  any  country,  and  deliberately  choosing  a  man  of 
the  people  here,  a  man  whose  achievements  have  made 
him  great !  Is  there  not  a  college  of  heraldry  somewhere 
that  places  intellect  and  character  and  achievement 
above  rank  and  fortune  ? ' ' 

He  could  not  fathom  her. 

' '  How  queer  you  are,  Miss  Bright !     Such  marriages, ' ' 


200  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

he  continued,  in  a  tone  of  disgust,  "would  not  be  toler- 
ated. " 

"Why  not?  They  would  be  on  a  higher  plane  than 
the  ones  you  boast  of.  You  exploit  the  marriage  of 
title  and  money.  I  suggest,  as  an  advance  upon  that, 
the  marriage  of  the  highest  type  of  the  noblewoman  of 
the  Old  World,  with  no  fortune  but  her  intellect,  her 
character,  and  her  fine  breeding,  with  the  highest  type 
of  noble  manhood  in  America,  a  man  large  enough  and 
great  enough  to  direct  the  progress  of  the  world. ' ' 

"Ally  the  daughters  of  our  nobility  with  plebeian 
Americans? — with  working  men?" 

"Why  not?"  she  asked. 

"Because  we  despise  people  in  trades,"  he  said,  con- 
temptuously. 

"But  the  tradesmen  who  make  the  fortunes  are  quite 
as  good  as  their  daughters,  who  barter  themselves  and 
their  fathers'  wealth  for  titles.  You  seem  to  approve 
of  such  alliances." 

They  had  reached  the  veranda  of  the  Clayton  home. 
Esther  Bright 's  hand  was  on  the  door  knob,  and  her 
companion  took  his  leave. 

How  radical  she  must  seem  to  him! 

As  she  entered  her  own  room,  she  found  a  letter  bear- 
ing a  London  postmark.  It  was  the  first  letter  she  had 
received  from  Kenneth  Hastings,  and  it  was  a  long  one. 
She  read  it  through,  and  then  reread  it,  and  buried  her 
face  in  her  arms  on  the  table.  After  awhile  there  came 
a  knock  on  the  door.  It  was  Carla.  She  had  been 
crying.  Esther  slipped  an  arm  about  her,  and  together 
they  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Carla?"  she  asked  gently. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  unhappy!" 

"Has  anyone  hurt  your  feelings,  dear?" 


SOME  SCHOOL  EXPERIENCES  201 

"Oh,  no.  It  is  not  that.  It  is  the  other.  I  wish  I 
could  die!" 

Esther  drew  Carla  to  her. 

"You  still  care  for  Mr.  Clifton;  is  that  it?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  sob,  "that  is  it.  I  am 
so  unhappy ! ' ' 

' '  Tell  me  all  about  it,  Carla, ' '  said  Esther,  in  a  sooth- 
ing tone.  '  '  Perhaps  it  will  be  a  relief  for  you  to  tell  me. 
When  a  load  is  shared  it  grows  lighter/' 

"Well,  you  see,  Papa  and  Mamma  died,  and  I  had  no 
one  but  distant  kindred.  They  gave  me  a  home,  and  I 
became  a  sort  of  servant  in  the  family.  Mark  Clifton 
was  their  nephew.  He  seemed  to  love  me,  and  he  was  the 
only  one  who  did.  He  talked  often  of  the  home  we'd 
have  when  we  are  married,  as  I  told  you. 

"I  was  sixteen  when  he  came  to  America.  Then  he 
sent  me  money  to  come  to  him,  saying  we'd  be  married 
on  my  arrival  here. 

"But  when  I  reached  Gila,  he  said  he  could  not  dis- 
grace his  family  by  marrying  me." 

These  words  were  followed  by  violent  weeping.  Then 
Esther  comforted  her  as  best  she  could,  and  tucked  her 
in  her  own  bed.  At  last  Carla  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep. 

Again  Esther  opened  Kenneth's  letter,  read  it,  and 
placed  it  in  her  Bible. 

So  days  came  and  went, — homely  days,  days  of  simple 
duties,  days  of  ministration  to  human  need.  And  Es- 
ther Bright  was  happy. 

One  day  as  she  lingered  late  at  the  schoolhouse,  she 
was  startled  to  see  a  young  Apache,  dressed  as  a  cowboy, 
standing  in  the  doorway.  For  an  instant,  she  felt  a 
sickening  fear.  Then  her  habit  of  self-control  asserted 
itself.  She  motioned  him  to  a  seat,  but  he  did  not  seem 
to  understand.  He  spied  her  guitar,  tried  the  strings, 


202  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

shook  his  head,  and  muttered  words  unintelligible  to  her. 

The  Indian  was,  apparently,  about  her  own  age,  tall, 
muscular,  and  handsome.  His  long,  glossy,  black  hair 
hung  about  his  shoulders.  On  his  head,  was  a  light  felt 
hat,  similar  to  the  ones  worn  by  the  cow-punchers.  His 
trousers  and  jacket  were  of  skins  and  cloth  respectively. 
In  a  moment  he  looked  up  at  her,  from  his  seat  on  the 
floor,  and  jabbered  something.  Apparently,  he  approved 
of  her.  He  touched  her  dress  and  jabbered  something 
else. 

*' * Ne-she-ad-nleh', ' '  he  said,  pointing  southward  to- 
wards the  Apache  reservation. 

She  told  him,  in  poor  Spanish,  that  she  could  not  un- 
derstand; but  he  apparently  understood  her,  and  looked 
pleased.  Again  he  repeated  the  same  words,  using  much 
gesticulation  to  help  convey  his  meaning. 

There  was  a  step  outside,  and  Robert  Duncan  ap- 
peared with  Bobbie. 

After  greeting  the  teacher,  Robert  looked  with  un- 
bounded astonishment  at  her  unusual  visitor.  Appar- 
ently the  Apache  was  there  on  a  friendly  visit.  The 
Scotchman  was  about  to  pass  on,  when  the  teacher  asked 
him  to  stay.  He  entered  the  room,  and  said  something 
to  the  Indian,  who  answered, 

**  ' '  Inda-stzan'  u'-sn-be-ceng-ke'. ' ' 

Robert  seemed  to  catch  his  meaning,  and  answered  in 
Spanish  that  the  people  called  her  the  Angel  of  the 
Gila. 

The  Apache  nodded  his  head  approvingly,  and  said, 

***  ' '  Inda-stzan'  u'-sn-be-tse' ! ' ' 

*  You  be  my  squaw. 

**  The  white  woman  is  an  angel. 

***  The  white  woman  is  the  daughter  of  God. 


SOME  SCHOOL  EXPERIENCES  203 

He  stepped  up  to  the  teacher,  and  took  hold  of  her 
arm  as  if  to  draw  her  away  with  him.  She  shook  her 
head,  and  pointed  to  Robert  Duncan,  who  made  signs 
to  him  that  she  was  his  squaw.  At  last  the  Indian  with- 
drew, turning,  from  time  to  time,  to  look  back  at  the  vi- 
sion that,  apparently,  had  bewitched  him. 

Then  Robert  explained  his  own  errand.  He  was 
seeking  a  mither  for  Bobbie.  The  bairn  must  have 
a  mither.  He  had  understood  her  interest  in  the  bairn 
to  be  a  corresponding  interest  in  himself.  He  was 
muckle  pleased,  he  said,  to  be  singled  out  for  any  wo- 
man's favor.  He  was  nae  handsome  man,  he  kenned 
that  weel.  He  was  ready  tae  marry  her  any  time  she 
telt  him.  Robert  looked  wonderfully  pleased  with  him- 
self, apparently  confident  of  a  successful  wooing.  His 
experience  had  been  limited. 

1  'You  wish  to  marry  me,  Mr.  Duncan?"  Outwardly, 
she  was  serious. 

"Yes,  Miss,  sen  ye  was  sae  willin',  I  thocht  I  maucht 
as  weel  tak  ye,  an'  then  I'd  not  be  bothered  wi'  ither 
women. 

"Have  they  troubled  you?"  she  asked,  with  a  look  of 
amusement.  "Have  they  been  attentive  to  you?" 

"Not  as  attentive  as  y'rsel'." 

' '  In  what  way  have  I  been  attentive  to  you,  Mr.  Dun- 
can ? ' '  she  asked,  looking  still  more  amused. 

"Ye've  helpit  me  bairn,  an'  cleaned  his  claes,  an' 
let  him  ca'  ye  mither.  Ye'd  no  hae  doon  that  wi'oot 
wishin'  the  faither,  too." 

His  confidence  was  rather  startling. 

' '  But  suppose  I  do  not  wish  the  father.     What  then  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  that  could  never  be,"  he  said,  "that  could  never 
be." 

"You  have  made  a  mistake,  Mr.  Duncan,"  she  said, 


204  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

quietly.     "You  will  have  to  look  elsewhere  for  a  wife. 

Good  afternoon." 

Saying  which,  she  turned  the  key  in  the  door,  and 

left  him  standing  dumb  with  astonishment. 

After  she  had  gone  some  distance,  he  called  after  her : 
"Ye  are  makin'  the  mistak  o'  y'r  life!" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

OVEE  THE  MOUNTAINS 

O^E  Friday  early  in  May,  Edith  Clayton  sud- 
denly became  ill.  Esther,  returning  from 
school,  found  Mrs.  Clayton  deeply  dis- 
tressed. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "if  Mr.  Clayton  or  the 
boys  were  only  here  to  take  Edith  to  Carlisle,  to  see  Dr. 
Brown!" 

' '  How  soon  will  they  return  ? ' ' 

"Two  days.  I'm  afraid  to  drive  myself,  and  Edith 
sick." 

"Does  she  know  the  way  there,  Mrs.  Clayton?"  Es- 
ther seemed  weighing  the  matter. 

"Yes;  she  has  gone  with  her  father  several  times." 

"Then  if  she  is  able  to  ride,  and  you  are  not  afraid 
to  trust  me,  I  '11  take  her.  It  is  Friday,  and  still  early. ' ' 

"But,  my  dear,  it  is  fifteen  miles  away,  a  long  fa- 
tiguing journey  over  rough  mountain  roads.  You'll 
have  to  ford  a  river,  and  stay  all  night  at  a  ranch  be- 
yond the  ford.  Besides,  it  is  a  perilous  drive.  Oh, 
dear!  I  am  so  worried!"  Here  she  broke  down  com- 
pletely. 

"Don't  let  us  waste  any  time,  Mrs.  Clayton.  If  you 
think  Edith  can  endure  the  journey,  I  am  willing  to 
run  the  risk.  I'll  take  her  myself." 

"I  believe  Edith  could  go  all  right— but— 

"Never  mind  anything  else.  Give  us  the  safe  team, 
and  we'll  start." 

205 


206  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

A  spirited  team  was  soon  at  the  door,  and  they  were 
placing  wraps,  cushions  and  luncheon  in  the  carriage. 
Then  Esther  and  Edith  started. 

For  a  few  miles,  they  repeatedly  crossed  bridges  over 
the  Gila,  then  their  road  followed  the  foothills  for  some 
distance.  The  hills  were  still  yellow  with  the  silky  Cal- 
ifornia poppies.  Green  alfalfa  fields,  in  the  valley  be- 
low, looked  like  bits  of  Eden  let  down  into  the  grimly 
majestic  scene.  Higher  the  travelers  rode,  and  higher. 
At  a  sudden  turn,  they  came  upon  the  narrow  and  peril- 
ous canyon  road,  where  they  drove  slowly,  drinking  in 
the  grandeur  of  it  all. 

The  tinkling  of  a  cowbell  warned  them  that  they  were 
approaching  a  human  habitation.  As  they  rounded  a 
sharp  jag,  they  came  upon  a  picturesque  bridge,  near  the 
farther  end  of  which  they  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  pine- 
slab  cabin,  half  hidden  by  tremulous  aspens.  A  little 
Mexican  child  stood  near  the  door,  helping  himself  to 
the  pink  and  white  blossoms  of  the  wild  sweet  pea. 
Near  by,  a  white  cow,  with  her  clanking  bell,  browsed 
on  the  green  turf  that  bordered  that  side  of  the  stream. 

On  and  up  the  mountain,  the  travelers  rode,  into  the 
heart  of  the  Rockies. 

"Just  look  at  that  rose-colored  sandstone,"  said  Es- 
ther. "How  exquisitely  veined!  See  the  gigantic, 
overhanging  mass  of  rock  beyond!  And  oh,  the  cactus 
blossoms!  How  glorious!  The  large  scarlet  blossoms! 
See?" 

"Yes.  Exquisite,  aren't  they?  But  look  at  those 
cliffs  over  in  that  direction,  Miss  Bright,"  said  Edith, 
pointing  to  her  left,  as  she  spoke.  "Do  you  see  any- 
thing unusual?" 

"Yes.  Quaint  figures.  Indian  art,  isn't  it?  I  do 
wish  I  could  see  it  nearer  by." 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS  207 

And  so  they  traveled  on,  reveling  in  the  beauty  every- 
where about  them. 

"Does  it  ever  occur  to  you,"  asked  Edith,  "that  God 
is  nearer  to  us  here,  in  the  mountains,  than  anywhere 
else?" 

"Yes.     Does  God  seem  nearer  to  you  here?" 

"Much  nearer.  When  we  went  home  to  England  the 
last  time,  I  missed  something.  It  seemed  to  me  it  was 
God.  "We  went  to  the  churches  and  heard  great  preach- 
ers, but  they  did  not  make  me  feel  the  presence  of  God 
as  the  mountains  do.  When  I  come  out  into  the  open, 
as  you  call  it,  and  see  the  mountains,  it  seems  to  me  I 
could  reach  my  hand  out  and  find  God. ' ' 

' '  The  mountains  do  great  things  for  us, ' '  said  Esther, 
looking  up  at  the  jagged  cliffs. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  whir  of  wings.  An  enormous 
eagle  roused  from  his  perch  on  the  rocks,  made  a  bold 
swoop,  and  soared  grandly  above  their  heads. 

"Look,  look!"  cried  Esther,  in  excitement.  "An 
eagle,  isn't  it?  Oh,  you  splendid  creature!  How 
magnificently  free!"  Her  cheeks  flushed. 

1  *  Did  you  never  see  one  before  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  stuffed;  but  this  bird  is  alive  and  free."  She 
looked  at  Edith. 

"You  look  pale,  Edith,"  she  said,  with  sudden  alarm. 
' '  Are  you  feeling  worse  ? ' ' 

"No.  Only  tired.  We'll  soon  reach  the  clearing,  and 
just  beyond  that,  the  ford;  and  just  beyond  that,  the 
ranch-house.  So  I  can  soon  rest." 

Esther  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  said: 

"I  feel  as  though  the  spirit  of  the  eagle  had  entered 
into  me." 

But  darkness  was  coming  on  apace.  To  their  re- 
lief they  soon  entered  the  clearing,  and  reached  the  bank 


208  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

of  the  stream,  where  they  halted  a  few  minutes.  The 
horses  pricked  up  their  ears. 

"Do  you  think  the  ford  is  dangerous  now,  Edith?" 

"It  is  usually  quite  safe  at  this  season,  unless  there 
has  been  a  cloudburst.  The  horses  know  the  ford,  and 
are  used  to  crossing.  Papa  gives  them  the  rein,  and 
they  have  always  brought  him  safely  through.  We  had 
better  place  our  luggage  on  the  seat,"  she  said,  "and 
keep  our  feet  up.  Tuck  your  skirts  up,  or  you'll  get 
a  drenching." 

Then  she  leaned  forward,  and  called  each  horse  by 
name. 

In  a  moment  they  were  in  the  river,  with  the  water 
up  to  the  horses'  shoulders.  They  felt  the  carriage  swing 
with  the  current,  and  felt  the  team  struggling  with  the 
force  of  the  waters.  Then  Esther  called  to  the  horses, 
in  tones  that  showed  no  fear, 

' '  Well  done,  Rocket !     On,  Star,  on ! " 

It  seemed  hours  to  her  before  the  faithful  animals 
were  once  more  on  the  shore,  and  safe. 

"Were  you  frightened,  Miss  Bright?"  asked  Edith. 

"Just  a  little.  I  never  forded  a  stream  before.  But 
how  nobly  the  horses  behaved ! ' ' 

1  i  Yes.     It  must  be  a  hard  struggle  for  them,  though. ' ' 

In  about  five  minutes,  they  stopped  before  a  house, 
tied  their  team,  and  knocked  at  the  door.  A  refined- 
looking  young  woman  received  them. 

"Why,  Esther  Bright!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  little 
shriek,  clasping  Esther  in  her  arms. 

"Why,  Grace  Gale!  Bless  your  heart!  Where  in 
the  world  did  you  come  from  ?  Grace,  this  is  my  friend, 
Miss  Edith  Clayton.  She  is  ill,  and  I  am  taking  her  to 
see  Dr.  Brown  in  Carlisle.  We  are  seeking  the  hospi- 
tality of  this  house  over  night." 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS  209 

Before  she  was  through,  speaking,  Grace  Galej  was  half 
carrying  Edith  into  the  house. 

"Come  right  in,  come  right  in!"  she  said.  "I'm  de- 
lighted !  Tickled  to  death  to  see  some  one  I  know ! ' ' 

She  ushered  them  into  a  room  guiltless  of  carpet, 
meagerly  furnished,  but  immaculately  clean.  Then  she 
excused  herself  to  send  some  one  to  attend  to  the  horses, 
and  to  tell  her  landlady  she  would  entertain  two  guests 
over  night.  She  soon  returned. 

"But  how  did  you  happen  to  come  so  far  from  civiliza- 
tion, Esther?"  she  questioned. 

"Oh,  a  combination  of  circumstances;  but  chiefly 
through  Mrs.  Clayton,  whom  I  met  in  England.  What 
brought  you  out  here  ? ' ' 

"I  came  for  restoration  of  health,"  she  answered, 
laughing  merrily,  as  though  it  were  all  a  joke. 

"I  don't  look  very  sickly  now,  do  I?  I  had  had 
double  pneumonia,  and  my  physician  ordered  me  to 
leave  Boston,  and  go  to  a  dry  climate.  So  I  came  to 
Arizona.  I  happened  to  meet  the  superintendent  of 
education.  He  needed  teachers.  So  I  came  here,  just 
for  the  fun  of  the  thing." 

"And  has  it  been  fun?",  asked  Esther,  joining  in 
her  friend's  laughter. 

"Fun?  There  have  been  so  many  funny  things  I 
have  laughed  myself  into  stitches.  For  example,  my 
landlady  refuses  to  let  me  have  any  extra  bedding  for 
to-night." 

"Never  mind.  We  have  our  cushions  and  lap-robe 
to  help  out.  Who  would  have  dreamed,  Grace,  when 
we  were  at  Wellesley,  that  we  should  meet  way  out  here 
in  the  wilds  of  Arizona?  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you!" 

"  So  am  I,  to  see  you.  Now  tell  me  all  you  know 
about  the  girls  of  our  class,  Esther." 


210  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

They  were  in  the  midst  of  a  vivacious  conversation, 
when  a  sleek,  tow-headed  woman  appeared  at  the  door, 
and  was  presented  to  them.  Then  she  announced  sup- 
per, and  disappeared. 

11  Don't  be  frightened,"  whispered  the  merry  hostess 
to  her  guests.  "She's  tame,  and  won't  bite,  and  the 
food  is  clean." 

The  landlady  entered  the  kitchen,  and  after  serving 
them,  left  the  room. 

The  hours  sped  merrily.  The  sick  girl  lay  on  the  little 
bed,  listening  to  college  reminiscences,  and  joining  occa- 
sionally in  the  conversation  and  laughter. 

' 'Esther,"  said  Miss  Gale,  "let's  give  the  Wellesley 
yell  for  Edith." 

"Well!  Here  goes!"  said  Esther,  joining  her  friend. 
Suddenly,  the  tow-head  appeared  at  the  door. 

"Be  ye  sick?"  inquired  the  surprised  hostess. 

"No,"  answered  Miss  Gale,  "only  giving  our  college 

yell." 

"Ye  don't  say!  Is  them  the  kind  er  doin's  ye  has 
where  ye  goes  ter  school  ? ' ' 

"A  yell  is  a  safety-valve,  don't  you  see,  Mrs.  Sv en- 
son?" 

But  Mrs.  Svenson  left  the  room  mumbling  to  herself. 

At  a  late  hour,  Grace  Gale  made  a  shake  down  of  one 
blanket,  for  Esther  and  herself.  Then  Esther  proposed 
they  use  Mrs.  Clayton's  cushions,  and  shawls,  and  robe, 
to  complete  the  preparations.  Edith  slept  in  the  bed. 

After  a  while,  the  hostess  asked : 

"Are  your  bones  coming  through,  Esther?" 

"No,  but  I  am  sorry  to  put  you  to  such  incon- 
venience. I  hope  you  won't  take  cold.  There  is  a  chill 
in  the  air  to-night." 

"No  more  o'  that,  honey.     I'm  just  glad  to  see  you. 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS  211 

This  is  the  biggest  lark  I  have  had  since  I  came  to 
Arizona. ' ' 

The  visitors  laughed  with  her. 

"My!  It  is  eleven  o'clock,  and  I  must  not  keep  this 
sick  child  awake  any  longer.  Good  night,  Esther." 

"Good  night,  Grace." 

"Good  night,  Edith." 

"Good  night." 

A  long  pause. 

"Esther,"  softly,  "are  you  asleep?" 

"No." 

"I  am  so  glad  you  came.  I  was  almost  dead  from 
homesickness. ' ' 

"Were  you,  Grace?  I'm  so  sorry  I  didn't  know  you 
were  so  near." 

On  the  following  morning,  the  vivacious  hostess  said: 

"I  can't  let  you  go.  I'm  so  lonely."  And  to  her 
surprise,  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

"You  dear  girl!"  said  Esther,  slipping  her  arm  about 
her. 

"Get  your  hat,  and  go  with  us  on  our  visit  to  Dr. 
Brown.     We  have  enough  luncheon  to  last  us  a  week. 
Come  right  along." 
1  So  off  the  three  drove. 

It  was  a  perfect  May  day,  the  kind  found  only  in 
Arizona.  The  air  was  crystal  clear,  and  the  sky  a  deep 
blue.  All  along,  there  were  thickets  of  sweet  briar,  and 
sweet  peas ;  and  cactuses,  just  beginning  to  bloom,  made 
the  way  one  of  continual  splendor.  The  air  was  exhil- 
arating ;  so  was  the  sunshine ;  so  was  Grace  Gale. 

"Oh,  you're  just  as  good  as  a  tonic,  Miss  Gale,"  said 
Edith.  All  three  seemed  to  see  the  funny  side  of  every- 
thing, and  laughed  even  when  there  was  no  excuse  for 
laughing.  The  gladness  of  the  day  was  contagious. 


212  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

The  physician  looked  grave  when  he  saw  the  un- 
natural pallor  of  Edith's  face,  and  noted  her  heart 
action. 

"It  is  well  Miss  Bright  brought  you  to  me  at  once, 
Edith, "  he  said.  "You  need  immediate  medical  atten- 
tion. I  wish  you  could  remain  with  us  a  few  days. ' ' 

But  she  insisted  upon  returning  with  her  teacher. 

After  a  due  amount  of  rest  and  refreshment,  they 
started  homeward,  leaving  Miss  Gale  at  her  boarding 
place.  Then  the  two  approached  the  ford  again.  The 
stream  was  higher  than  on  the  preceding  day,  and  the 
waters  raging. 

Once  more  the  spirited  team  dashed  forward.  Once 
more  the  carriage  swung  with  the  current;  only,  now, 
it  was  swifter  and  stronger  than  on  the  day  before. 

"Oh,  this  is  terrible!"  said  Edith,  grasping  her  com- 
panion's arm. 

"Keep  up  courage,  Edith,"  said  Esther.  "I  think 
well  make  it." 

But  she  noted  the  deathly  whiteness  of  the  girl's  face. 

"Steady,  Rocket!  Steady,  Star!"  said  the  teacher. 
Her  own  face  grew  tense  and  white. 

She  felt  the  carriage  swing  with  a  sudden  lurch,  and 
it  began  to  dawn  upon  her  that  the  horses  might  lose 
in  the  struggle.  She  lifted  the  reins,  and  called  out 
above  the  roar  of  the  waters: 

' '  On,  Rocket !  On,  Star !  Once  more,  my  beauties ! 
Bravo!  Oh,  God,  give  them  strength!  On!" 

She  rose  in  her  excitement,  and  swung  the  reins. 

The  noble  animals  struggled  madly.  Could  they  gain 
the  opposite  bank?  She  was  filled  with  sickening  fear. 

"On,  Rocket!     On,  Star!"  she  urged  again. 

At  that  moment,  the  exhausted  animals  gained  the 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS  213 

mastery,  sprang  up  the  embankment,  and  stopped  sud- 
denly on  the  level  beyond,  quivering  from  their  terrific 
struggle. 

Esther  gave  the  reins  to  Edith,  and  springing  from  the 
carriage,  she  stepped  to  the  horses'  heads,  patting  and 
stroking  them.  Her  voice  trembled  as  she  said : 

"Kocket,  my  brave,  Star,  my  beauty,  we  owe  our 
lives  to  you." 

They  whinnied  as  if  they  understood. 

She  put  her  cheek  to  their  noses,  she  laughed,  she 
cried. 

* '  I  believe  they  understand, ' '  she  said. 

"I  feel  sure  they  do,"  answered  Edith. 

When  Esther  climbed  back  into  the  carriage,  she 
found  Edith  had  fainted.  She  waited  till  her  patient 
regained  consciousness,  and  then  they  started  homeward. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Edith,  after  they  had  gone  some 
distance,  "we  have  had  a  very  narrow  escape?  A  little 
more,  and  we  'd  have  been  swept  down  the  river. ' ' 

'  *  I  didn  't  realize  the  full  danger  until  we  were  in  the 
midst  of  the  torrent."  said  Esther.  "There  was  no 
choice  but  to  go  on.  I  thank  God  that  your  life  is  safe, 
dear,"  she  added,  drawing  the  girl  affectionately  to  her. 
"I  hope  our  troubles  are  over  now,  and  that  you'll  feel 
no  ill  effects  from  the  fright." 

They  had  covered  miles  of  the  return  journey,  and 
had  reached  the  canyon  road  leading  directly  to  Gila. 
Here,  for  a  short  distance,  the  canyon  stream  spreads 
wide,  flowing  over  a  pebbly  bottom.  The  water  sparkled 
in  the  sunlight  like  a  stream  of  diamonds.  In  the  shal- 
lows, the  bed  of  the  stream  seemed  jeweled  with  rubies 
and  emeralds,  opals  and  amethysts,  as  the  pebbles  be- 
low the  crystal  water  shimmered  in  the  late  sunshine. 


214  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

They  were!  within  a  mile  of  Gila  when  they  heard  the 
sharp,  shrill  cry  of  wolves.  Esther  tightened  the  reins, 
and  the  horses  fairly  flew. 

"Have  we  a  gun  with  us,  Miss  Bright?  We  ought 
to  have  one.  I  always  feel  safer  when  I  have  a  gun. 
You  never  know  what  you  may  meet  on  these  mountain 
roads. " 

"Can  you  shoot?"  asked  Esther. 

"Oh,  yes;  father  trained  me  to  shoot.  Oh,  those  ter- 
rible wolves!"  she  said,  as  the  shrill,  mournful  cries 
came  nearer.  I 

"On,  Rocket!      On,  Star!"  urged  Esther,  again. 

The  animals  made  a  sudden  lunge,  and  sped  onward 
like  mad.  Around  jagged  turns  they  flew,  as  if  inviting 
death ;  near  precipitous  cliffs  they  swung,  till  the  driver 
was  filled  with  sickening  terror.  On  they  raced,  the 
wolves  in  hot  pursuit. 

"Oh,  dear!"  said  Edith,  looking  back.  "One  large 
wolf  is  far  in  advance,  and  close  upon  us." 

Quick  as  a  flash,  she  stooped,  took  a  great  haunch  of 
venison  Dr.  Brown  had  sent  to  her  father,  and  flung  it 
behind  them.  Then  she  watched  in  intense  excitement. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  striking  her  hands  together, 
"the  wolf  has  discovered  the  venison,  and  has  stopped!" 

With  that,  she  took  the  whip,  and  gave  the  already 
excited  animals  a  stinging  blow.  They  leaped  and 
plunged  madly  forward.  Esther  doubled  the  reins 
around  her  hands,  and  called  in  low,  insistent  tones: 

"Steady,  Rocket!     Steady,  Star!" 

They  had  gained  upon  their  pursuers,  and  the  horses 
were  running  at  furious  speed. 

"The  she-wolf,"  said  Edith,  looking  back,  "is  again 
following;  but  the  smaller  wolves  are  snarling  over  the 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS  215 

"Ow-ee-ow,"  came  the  wolf -cry,  shriller,  sharper, 
nearer.  Esther  shuddered.  She  urged  the  horses  on. 
Edith  grasped  her  arm  in  terror. 

' '  The  wolf  is  just  behind  us ! ' '  she  said. 

Suddenly  there  was  the  report  of  a  gun.  Esther 
glanced  back,  and  saw  the  wolf  fall  in  the  road.  She 
glanced  ahead,  and,  at  first,  she  saw  no  one.  Then,  out 
from  the  shade  of  a  group  of  pines,  rode  Kenneth 
Hastings. 

"Whoa!  Whoa!"  he  called,  as  he  leaped  from  his 
own  horse,  and  caught  Rocket  by  the  bits.  With  a  sud- 
den lurch,  the  team  came  to  a  standstill. 

"Whoa,  Rocket!  Whoa,  Star!"  he  called  soothingly, 
as  he  held  and  quieted  the  team. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you,  Mr.  Hastings!"  said  Es- 
ther. "When  did  you  reach  Gila?" 

' '  We  're  so  glad  to  see  you ! ' '  said  both,  as  he  stepped 
to  the  carriage  and  extended  a  hand  to  each. 

' '  But  how  did  you  happen  to  be  here  ? ' '  asked  Esther. 

"I  came  in  this  morning.  Mrs.  Clayton  told  me  you 
had  gone  to  Carlisle,  and  would  be  back  about  this 
time.  I  have  felt  anxious  about  you  ever  since  I  heard 
you  had  undertaken  this  journey." 

Again  both  repeated  their  gratitude  for  his  timely 
assistance.  He  could  see  they  were  trembling. 

"Your  horses  were  running  away,"  he  said.  "They 
are  nervous  creatures,  and  are  still  frightened." 

After  a  while,  he  suggested  that  they  drive  on  slowly, 
while  he  kept  guard,  in  case  wolves  should  pursue  them 
farther.  Then  he  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  beside 
their  carriage. 

So  they  covered  the  remaining  distance,  talking  of 
many  things  that  had  happened  during  the  weeks  of 
his  absence. 


216  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

As  they  approached  the  Clayton  residence,  Mrs.  Clay- 
ton and  Carla  came  out  to  welcome  them. 

"How  are  you,  Edith?"  questioned  the  anxious 
mother. 

"I  hardly  know/'  answered  the  girl.  "I've  been 
frightened  nearly  to  death.  I  guess  the  fright  cured 
me." 

"I  think  she  is  better,"  added  Esther.  "Dr.  Brown's 
medicine  has  helped  her." 

"But  what  frightened  you?"  asked  the  mother. 

Then  Edith  told  of  the  peril  of  the  ford,  and  of  the 
pursuit  of  the  wolves,  dwelling  on  Kenneth's  opportune 
assistance. 

"We  owe  a  great  deal  to  you,  Kenneth,"  said  Mrs. 
Clayton,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears. 

"Oh,  that  was  only  a  trifle,  Mrs.  Clayton,"  he  said, 
carelessly. 

"Come  dine  with  us  to-night,  Kenneth,  won't  you?" 
asked  his  friend. 

After  thanking  her,  he  mounted  his  horse,  lifted  his 
cap,  and  went  on  his  way  to  headquarters. 

And  Esther  Bright!  What  was  in  her  heart?  We 
shall  see. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  DAY   OF   THE   GREAT  RACE 

IT  was  pay  day  in  Gila.     Miners  from  far  and  near 
were  in  camp.     Cow-punchers  had  come  from  the 
range;  cow-lasses,  also,  were  to  be  seen  here  and 
there,   chaffing  with   men   they   knew.     The   one 
street   had    suddenly   taken    on    human   interest. 
Representatives  of  different  nations  were  to  be  seen  in 
all  directions,  some  going  to,  and  some  coming  from  the 
saloons.     Groups  of  men  and  women  gathered  to  gossip. 
Comments  on  affairs  of  the  community,  and  especially 
on  the  approaching  race,  were  freely  interlarded  with 
profanity.     Along    the    street,    strolled    Lord    Kelwin, 
puffing  away  at  a  cigar.     Apparently  he  was  a  good 
"  mixer." 

"So  you've  entered  your  mare  fur  the  race,"  said  a 
cow-puncher,  slapping  him  familiarly  on  the  back. 
' '  What  in  blank  do  you  expect  her  to  do  ?  She  ain  't  fit 
fur  nothin'  but  takin'  gals  hossback  ridin',  eh?" 
And  he  laughed  uproariously  at  his  attempt  at  wit. 
"Better  cut  out  that  part  of  the  race.  That  belongs  to 
another  brand  o'  cattle.  Come!  Have  a  drink." 
Saying  which,  they  entered  the  saloon  where  Pete 
Tompkins  presided. 

The  air  was  already  stiff  with  smoke  and  profanity. 
Men  had  congregated  there  soon  after  receiving  their 
wages. 

In  a  little  room  apart,  sat  men  intent  on  a  game  of 
cards.  Lord  Kelwin  joined  them.  One  of  the  players, 

217 


218  THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  GILA 

a  mining  engineer,  was  a  professional  gambler,  who 
frequently  raked  into  his  pockets  the  hard-earned  wages 
of  many  laboring  men.  Everyone  save  the  engineer 
seemed  tense.  Once  in  a  while,  a  smothered  oath  was 
heard.  At  the  close  of  the  game,  the  Irish  lord,  also, 
began  to  play.  He  had  been  drinking,  and  though  an 
experienced  player,  he  was  no  match  for  the  sober 
gambler.  He  lost  heavily.  At  the  close  of  the  game, 
he  drank  again,  then  staggered  out  of  the  door.  Ah, 
how  many  had  done  the  same! 

Pete  Tompkins  followed,  gibing  him  about  entering 
the  mare  in  the  race. 

"What  in  blank  are  ye  enterin'  her  fur?"  asked  the 
aforesaid  Pete. 

The  men  gathered  about  expectant  of  a  fray. 

"What  am — I — entering  her — for — (staggering  and 
hiccoughing) — entering  her  for?  Ye  blanked  Ameri- 
cans!— I'm  entering  her  for  Miss  Bright — Miss  Bright, 
ye  know — Miss  Bright — "  He  laughed  a  silly  laugh. 
"I'm  going  to  marry  her."  Here,  he  indulged  in  a 
drunken  jest  that  sent  some  of  the  men  into  fits  of 
laughter. 

A  few,  standing  outside  the  door,  had  attended  the 
men's  club  and  the  Sunday  service.  Jack  Harding, 
passing  at  that  moment,  stopped  to  speak  with  one  of 
the  men,  and  overheard  the  reference  to  Esther  Bright. 
His  face  grew  sternly  white.  He  stepped  in  front  of 
the  boastful  Irishman,  and  said  in  a  stern,  quiet  voice: 

"Brute,  say  that  you  lied." 

"Blank  you,  you  religious  hypocrite,"  roared  Lord 
Kelwin,  "you  can't  bully  me!" 

Jack  Harding  sprang  upon  him,  gripped  his  throat 
like  a  vice,  and  demanded  that  he  retract  every  insulting 
word  he  had  said  about  the  teacher. 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  GREAT  RACE    219 

"What  is  that  to  you?  Blank  you!'*  gasped  the 
Irishman. 

Jack  Harding 's  grasp  tightened. 

"Say  it,"  he  repeated,  in  deadly  quiet  tones.  "Say 
that  all  you  said  about  that  pure,  good  woman  is  a  lie. ' ' 

His  tone  was  as  inexorable  as  fate. 

The  Irishman's  eyes  grew  fixed  with  terror,  his  tongue 
hung  from  his  mouth,  his  face  grew  purple.  Still  that 
calm  intense  voice  reiterating  in  his  ear: 

"Say  it!     Say  that  all  you  said  was  a  lie." 

Seeing  Lord  Kel win's  extreme  danger,  some  one  at- 
tempted to  interfere.  Cries  were  heard: 

"Let  them  alone!" 

"It's  none  of  your  funeral!" 

"Jack  Harding  was  right.  Kel  win  did  lie,  and  he's 
a  blackguard  for  saying  what  he  did." 

Then  man  after  man  took  up  the  cry: 

"Kel win,  ye  blanked  coward,  say  ye  lied!  Ye  know 
ye  lied!" 

At  last  the  Irishman  gave  the  sign.  Jack  Harding 
released  him.  Then,  somewhat  sobered,  he  muttered: 

' '  I  did  lie  about  a  true  woman.     All  I  said  was  a  lie. ' ' 

He  staggered  from  the  scene,  and  Jack  Harding 
passed  on  his  way. 

The  race  was  to  be  on  a  track  in  the  valley  below. 
As  it  was  Saturday,  John  Clayton  had  suggested  to 
Esther  that  she  and  Edith  take  a  horseback  ride  with 
him,  to  see  the  last  part  of  the  race ;  for,  he  assured  her, 
she  would  see  human  life,  as  well  as  horse  speed,  there. 

As  they  approached  the  track  from  the  mountain 
road,  hoarse  cries  and  yells  could  be  heard.  Excitement 
ran  high. 

A  few  thoroughbreds  had  been  entered  for  the  race, 
but  the  greater  number  of  entries  were  for  horse-flesh 


220  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

that  could  boast  neither  registered  sires  nor  grandsires. 
They  were  just  ''horses." 

The  last  race  began  just  as  the  Clayton  party  turned 
and  looked  down  on  the  wriggling,  shoving,  cursing 
crowd  below.  It  is  doubtful  if  Esther  Bright  had  ever 
heard  such  language,  in  all  her  life,  as  she  heard  that 
day.  She  shuddered,  and  turning  to  her  escort,  asked 
why  he  had  brought  her  there. 

"Just  for  you  to  see  what  animals  human  beings  are, 
and  how  great  is  their  need  of  refining,  uplifting  in- 
fluences. ' ' 

' '  Is  John  Harding  here  ? ' '  she  asked,  uneasily. 

"We  are  all  here,"  he  answered,  smiling,  "including 
Jack.  You  need  never  worry  about  him  again.  You 
found  him  a  sinner,  and — " 

"And  he  has  become  a  saint?"  she  supplemented. 

"Not  exactly  a  saint,"  he  answered,  "but  you  have 
brought  about  a  complete  transformation  in  the  man's 
life  and  character.  Jack  could  never  return  to  what 
he  was,  be  sure  of  that!" 

"Kelwin!  Kelwin's  ahead!"  shouted  a  hoarse  voice, 
above  the  noise  of  the  crowd. 

"Blank  ye!"  retorted  another,  "Bill  Hines  is  ahead! 
I  seen  'em  turn  fust ! ' ' 

"Ye  lie!"  continued  the  first. 

Away  to  the  right,  speeding  around  a  curve  in  the 
race  course,  four  horses  were  straining  every  muscle. 
Occasionally  a  cow-puncher  would  lift  his  quirt,  and 
make  it  hum  through  the  air,  or  lash  the  poor  beast,  al- 
ready straining  to  its  utmost  speed. 

For  a  few  moments,  the  racers  were  concealed  from 
view  by  a  mass  of  rocks.  When  they  emerged  again, 
they  were  greeted  by  yells  from  bystanders.  A  cowlass, 
mounted  on  a  spirited  animal,  was  in  the  lead.  She 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  GREAT  RACE    221 

swore  almost  constantly  at  her  horse,  occasionally  cut- 
ting him  with  her  quirt. 

Lord  Kelwin,  now  somewhat  sobered,  made  a  close 
second;  and  Bill  Hines  and  Bill  Weeks  were  neck  and 
neck  behind  the  Irishman. 

The  crowd  cheered  and  cheered. 

The  girl  leading  was  as  fine  a  specimen  of  the  human 
animal  as  the  horse  she  rode  was  of  the  horse  kind.  She 
sat  her  horse  superbly. 

Finally,  Lord  Kelwin  gained  upon  her,  and  the  horses 
were  neck  and  neck.  The  girl  again  whirled  her  quirt 
around  till  it  cut  the  air  with  a  hissing  sound,  and  spoke 
to  her  horse.  It  was  enough. 

The  betting  grew  louder.     The  stakes  grew  heavier. 

1 1 1  know  Kelwin  '11  win  yet. ' ' 

"No,  he  won't.  Kate  Brown '11  win.  She's  a  devil 
to  ride,  that  girl  is ! " 

Again  the  Irishman  gained  upon  her.  Again  she  sent 
her  quirt  singing  through  the  air,  and  her  horse  obeyed 
as  though  horse  and  rider  were  one.  He  sped  faster  and 
faster,  passed  Lord  Kelwin,  then  the  starting  point, 
and  the  race  was  won. 

"Hurrah  for  Kate  Brown  and  Lightning!"  shouted 
hoarse  voices;  and  cowboys  and  cowlasses  and  everyone 
else  yelled  and  shouted,  and  shouted  and  yelled.  It 
seemed  as  though  pandemonium  had  been  let  loose. 

Jack  Harding  had  gone  to  the  races  chiefly  to  dog 
the  steps  of  Lord  Kelwin ;  so,  if  the  Irishman  had  been 
inclined  to  speak  lightly  of  Esther  Bright  again,  he 
would  have  had  to  reckon  with  him.  Kelwin  felt  him- 
self shadowed  by  the  cowboy,  and  a  great  fear  took 
possession  of  him. 

As  he  dismounted,  his  scant  clothing  was  wet,  and 
clung  to  his  person.  The  race  had  not  improved  his 


222  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

temper  any.  To  be  beaten,  and  beaten  by  a  woman, 
and  that  woman  an  American  cowlass,  was  the  very  limit 
of  what  he  could  endure  from  "raw  America "  that  day. 
He  swore  to  the  right  of  him;  he  swore  to  the  left  of 
him.  Then  glancing  over  the  crowd,  he  discovered  the 
Clayton  party  overlooking  the  scene. 

John  Clayton,  ignorant  of  the  episode  at  the  saloon, 
was  beckoning  him  to  join  them.  Lord  Kelwin  was 
about  to  do  so,  when  Jack  Harding  stepped  up  to  him 
and  said: 

' '  Don 't  you  dare  enter  that  woman 's  presence ! ' ' 

Lord  Kelwin  placed  his  hand  on  his  gun,  saying: 

"Oh,  you  needn't  give  me  any  of  your  impudent 
American  advice,  you  mongrel  cur!" 

"Never  mind  what  I  am,"  said  Jack;  "that  woman 
is  one  of  the  truest,  purest  souls  on  earth.  You  are  not 
fit  to  enter  her  presence.  You  have  me  to  deal  with, 
remember. ' ' 

His  great  eyes  flashed  upon  the  Irishman,  who  quailed 
before  him. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  be  so  high  and  mighty,"  said  Lord 
Kelwin,  changing  his  tactics.  "I  don't  care  a  blank 
about  her,  anyway.  She's  only  an  American  working 
woman,  an  Indian  at  that." 

"So  this  is  nobility,"  Jack  said  to  himself.  "Nobil- 
ity !  What  is  it  to  be  nolle?" 

The  race  was  followed  by  a  dance  in  one  of  the 
saloons,  and  the  lowest  of  the  low  were  there.  At  four 
o  'clock  in  the  morning,  those  sober  enough  went  to  their 
homes;  the  others  stretched  out  anywhere,  in  a  deep 
drunken  sleep;  and  pay-day  and  its  pleasuring  were 
over.  Men  and  women  awakened  to  find  their  money 
gone ;  and  for  the  first  time  in  years,  they  felt  shame. 

Sunday  came.     The  hour  of  the  service  drew  near. 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  GREAT  RACE    223 

Esther  Bright  had  thought  out  what  she  would  say 
that  day  about  the  Race  for  Life.  But  when  she 
rose  to  speak,  she  had  a  strange  experience.  All  she 
had  thought  to  say,  vanished;  and  before  her  mind's 
eye,  she  saw  the  words,  ' '  The  wages  of  sin  is  death. ' ' 

There  were  perhaps  a  hundred  people  before  her  in 
the  timber  (where  the  services  were  now  held), — men 
and  women  among  them,  who,  the  day  before,  had  for- 
gotten they  were  created  in  the  image  of  God,  and  who 
had  groveled  to  the  level  of  beasts. 

These  men,  these  women,  had  come  to  this  spot  this 
day,  why,  they  did  not  know.  Why  Esther  Bright 
said  the  things  she  said  that  day,  she  did  not  know, 
either.  All  she  knew  was  that  the  words  came,  and 
that  there  were  men  and  women  before  her  whom  she 
must  help. 

Those  who  had  sunken  so  low  the  day  before,  cried 
out  in  repentance,  as  they  listened  to  her  words.  God's 
message,  through  Esther  Bright 's  voice,  had  come  to 
men's  business  and  bosoms.  Called  of  God,  she  said 
they  were, — called  to  be  true  men,  true  women.  From 
time  to  time,  she  quoted,  "The  wages  of  sin  is  death." 
One  could  almost  hear  his  heart  beat. 

The  meeting  was  over,  so  far  as  Esther  Bright 's  part 
in  it  was  concerned;  then  it  passed  from  her  control. 
First  one,  then  another  rose,  confessed  his  sins,  and  asked 
for  her  prayers. 

And  what  of  Esther?  She  sat  as  pale  as  death,  her 
face  alight  with  a  sweetness  and  compassion  that  did 
not  seem  of  earth. 

Kenneth  Hastings  watched  her  with  deepening  rever- 
ence. Her  words  had  gone  to  his  heart,  too,  and  he 
sang  with  deep  feeling: 

"Just  as  I  am,  without  one  plea." 


224  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

As  the  song  ceased,  Pete  Tompkins  (to  everyone's 
amazement)  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Ye '11  be  s 'prised  ter  hear  from  me,  I  reckon," — 
Here  he  shoved  his  hand,  lean  and  gaunt,  up  through 
his  hair.  "But  I've  been  listenin'  ter  schoolma'am  ever 
sence  she  begun  preachin'  in  the  timber,  an'  all  I've 
got  ter  say  is  she  ain't  our  brand,  or  the  Devil's  brand 
either.  When  the  Boss  sent  out  his  puncher  ter  round 
up  folks,  he  cut  her  out  an'  branded  her  with  the  mark 
o'  God.  I  know  she's  tellin'  the  gospel  truth.  She's 
got  more  courage  'n  any  blanked  one  o'  yer.  I  done 
'er  a  mean  trick  onct.  I  said  blanked  mean  things 
about  'er.  I'm  sorry  I  done  it,  blanked  ef  I  ain't! 
Ter  show  'er  an'  you  that  I  mean  ter  be  differ 'nt,  I 
say,  here  an'  now,  that  I  wanter  see  these  meetin's  go 
on,  's  long  's  schoolma'am  '11  be  our  angel  an'  pilot 
us.  Ter  prove  I  mean  it,  I'll  plank  down  this  hunderd 
dollars"  (holding  up  a  hundred-dollar  bill)  "toward 
buildin'  a  meetin'  house;  an'  I'll  give  more,  blanked  ef 
I  don't!  How  many  wants  a  meetin'  house  in  Gila? 
Stand  up!" 

Many  stood. 

"Stand  up,  the  hull  blanked  lot  o'  ye!"  said  the  self- 
appointed  leader  in  forcible  tones.  To  Esther's  astonish- 
ment, the  people  rose,  and  remained  standing. 

The  notes  of  a  thrush  were  caught  up  by  a  mocking 
bird,  then  a  warbler  joined  in,  and  the  waiting  people 
listened.  The  song  of  the  birds  "came  like  the  bene- 
diction that  follows  after  prayer." 

At  last  the  company  dispersed,  and  Esther  Bright 
sat  alone,  absorbed  in  silent  prayer. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

NIGHT  ON  THE  RANGE 

THE   cowboys   and   cowlasses  had   long  been 
back  on  the  range,  and  the  attendance  at 
the  clubs  had  decreased  in  consequence. 
Many  still  came  to  the  Sunday  service  in 
the  timber;   and  the  children  remained  in 
the  school,  notwithstanding  the  increasing  heat. 

Continuous  labor,  and  the  intense  heat,  were  begin- 
ning to  tell  on  Esther  Bright.  As  June  approached,  she 
occasionally  spoke  of  going  home;  but  whenever  she 
did  so,  there  was  a  chorus  of  protests,  especially  from 
Kenneth  Hastings.  Couldn't  she  spend  the  summer  in 
Arizona,  and  they  would  camp  on  one  of  the  forest 
mesas,  a  party  of  them  ?  It  would  give  her  new  life  and 
strength. 

She  shook  her  head  listlessly.  One  idea  grew  and 
possessed  her:  she  must  go  home,  home  to  her  grand- 
father. 

Into  Esther's  manner,  when  in  the  presence  of  Ken- 
neth Hastings,  had  come  a  deepening  reserve.  And  yet, 
from  time  to  time,  she  spoke  with  feeling  of  her  gratitude 
to  him  for  rescuing  Edith  and  herself  on  the  day  of  his 
return.  Her  erstwhile  gayety  had  departed,  and  in  its 
place  was  a  seriousness  that  seemed  akin  to  sadness. 

Kenneth  Hastings  studied  her,  puzzled.  He  shared 
the  solicitude  the  Claytons  evidently  felt  for  her.  All 
knew  she  had  drawn  too  lavishly  upon  her  strength  in 
her  unselfish  service  for  others.  They  also  knew  that 

225 


226  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

warnings  and  protests  availed  nothing;  that  she  must 
learn  through  experience  the  necessity  of  conservation 
of  energy.  Too  useful  a  woman,  Kenneth  Hastings 
said  of  her,  to  wear  herself  out  in  service  for  a  lot  of 
common  people.  But  he  did  not  understand.  He  was 
to  learn. 

At  the  close  of  a  fatiguing  day,  a  day  of  withering 
heat,  John  Clayton  came  home  to  dinner,  bringing  Ken- 
neth with  him.  Esther  Bright  and  Edith  Clayton  sat 
on  the  veranda  as  they  approached. 

"Miss  Bright,"  said  the  host,  "I  have  a  proposition 
to  make: — that  you  and  Mrs.  Clayton  accompany  Mr. 
Hastings  and  me  to  Clifton  to-morrow.  Fortunately, 
to-morrow  will  be  Friday.  We  can  start  soon  after 
school  is  dismissed,  and  return  Saturday,  riding  in  the 
cool  of  the  day." 

"Delightful!"  she  exclaimed,  with  evident  pleasure, 
"How  far  is  it?" 

"About  twenty  miles,  I  think,"  he  answered. 

" Twenty  miles?  On  horseback?  I'm  afraid  I  can't 
endure  the  fatigue  of  so  long  a  ride.  I  am  already  so 
tired!" 

"Really!"  said  Kenneth,  in  a  mocking  tone.  "You 
at  last  acknowledge  that  you  are  tired!  I  am  aston- 
ished." 

But  she  was  unresponsive. 

As  the  plans  were  discussed  for  the  long  ride,  Esther 
gradually  roused,  and  entered  into  the  occasion  with 
spirit.  It  was  decided  that  the  four  should  go  in  the 
surrey.  Carla  and  Edith  were  to  remain  at  home;  and 
as  Jack  Harding  was  still  in  camp,  he  was  to  be  general 
protector  of  the  girls  until  the  return  of  the  party. 

As  the  sun  began  to  lower,  Friday  afternoon,  the 
party  drove  away  from  camp,  first  north,  then  east,  to- 


NIGHT  ON  THE  RANGE  227 

ward  Clifton.  They  crossed  and  recrossed  the  Gila 
Eiver  for  some  distance,  passing  many  of  the  abandoned 
cliff  dwellings  along  the  canyon.  Everywhere,  the  desert 
foothills,  and  the  crevices  of  jagged  cliffs  were  ablaze 
with  cactus  blossoms.  As  the  cool  came  on,  the  air  grew 
delightful,  and  Esther  seemed  to  awaken  once  more  to 
the  pure  joy  of  living. 

Could  they  tell  her  anything  of  the  cliff  dwellers? 
They  certainly  could.  And  John  Clayton  told  her 
of  the  Hopi  Indians,  and  their  customs.  People  of 
peace  they  were ;  keepers  of  sheep,  lovers  of  the  heavens, 
and  knew  the  mystery  of  the  stars  as  no  one  else  did. 
Their  men  honored  their  women,  he  said.  And  then  he 
laughingly  told  her  that  the  Hopi  Indians  were  women 
suffragists.  The  Hopi  women,  he  said,  were  given  more 
rights  than  were  the  women  of  civilization. 

"What  rights?"  she  asked. 

Then  he  described  his  visit  to  Hopi  land,  telling  her 
of  the  superior  place  the  Hopi  woman  occupies  in  the 
life  of  the  Hopi  people. 

The  talk  drifted  to  Indians  in  general,  Esther  Bright 
asking  many  questions,  indicating  on  her  part  a  deep 
and  growing  interest  in  these  native  lords  of  the  valleys 
and  mesas. 

Just  as  they  were  crossing  a  bridge  over  the  river, 
they  met  Lord  Kelwin  on  horseback.  It  was  the  first 
time  they  had  met  him  since  the  race.  John  Harding 
had  not  seen  fit  to  tell  Kenneth  or  the  Claytons  of  his 
experiences  with  the  Irishman,  as  long  as  he  himself 
was  in  camp  to  protect  Esther  Bright. 

John  Clayton  reined  in  his  horses  to  greet  Lord  Kel- 
win. The  Irishman  spoke  to  them,  but  looked  at  Esther. 
After  learning  their  destination  and  the  probable  time 
of  their  return,  he  lifted  his  cap  and  rode  on. 


228  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

Esther  Bright  was  annoyed.  She  could  hardly  have 
told  why. 

"Lord  Kelwin  is  a  genial  fellow,"  John  Clayton  re- 
marked, turning  to  speak  to  Esther;  but,  observing  the 
expression  of  her  face,  he  asked  in  a  surprised  tone : 

"Don't  you  like  Lord  Kelwin,  Miss  Bright?" 

"No,"  she  answered,  quietly. 

Kenneth  laughed.  Then,  turning  around,  he  said  in 
a  bantering  tone: 

"But  he  told  me  you  had  gone  horseback  riding  with 
him,  daily,  while  I  was  away. ' ' 

"He's  mistaken,  Kenneth,"  responded  John  Clayton. 
' '  Miss  Bright  went  riding  with  him  about  three  times. ' ' 

"Three  times  too  many,"  said  Kenneth,  apparently 
teasing,  but  with  an  undertone  of  seriousness.  Mrs. 
Clayton  adroitly  turned  the  conversation. 

"John,  tell  Miss  Bright  about  your  meeting  General 
C." 

Then  he  told  how  the  general  came  to  Arizona,  and 
of  his  wise  dealings  with  the  red  men.  He  explained 
the  reason  for  the  great  unrest  of  the  Indians  after  the 
general  withdrew.  He  told  how  he  was  summoned  from 
the  Department  of  the  Platte  in  1882,  and  of  the  cap- 
ture of  Geronimo  and  his  band. 

"And  Geronimo  is  supposed  to  be  the  father  of  our 
little  Wathemah!"  Esther  exclaimed. 

"Some  think  so,"  he  said.  "I  have  my  doubts.  He 
looks  as  though  he  might  be  a  mixture  of  Apache,  Mexi- 
can and  Spanish." 

"Whatever  he  is,  he  is  an  attractive  child,"  she  said. 
"How  did  you  come  to  meet  General  C.?" 

"He  and  his  troops  marched  through  Gila.  I  en- 
tertained the  officers  at  the  ranch  over  night. ' ' 

As  he  spoke,  they  came  upon  a  pappoose,  tied  to  a 


NIGHT  ON  THE  RANGE  229 

tree,  and  blinking  in  the  afternoon  sunshine.  Just  be- 
yond, they  found  a  group  of  Apaches.  The  women  were 
cooking  fish  over  live  coals  of  fire.  The  men  seemed  to 
recognize  John  Clayton.  He  greeted  them  in  the  tongue 
of  the  Mexicans,  as  he  drove  by,  while  the  Indians  jab- 
bered and  gesticulated  violently. 

At  the  bridge  just  beyond,  they  crossed  the  Gila  for 
the  last  time  before  turning  northward.  There,  they 
saw  a  young  Apache  catching  fish.  He  glanced  up,  and 
Esther  recognized  in  him  the  visitor  who  had  found  her 
at  the  schoolhouse.  It  was  evident  he  knew  her,  for  he 
started  towards  the  surrey. 

"He  is  one  of  the  friendly  Apaches,"  explained  John 
Clayton.  "He's  often  on  the  range,  and  has  adopted 
some  of  the  cowboy  regimentals,  you  see." 

The  driver  stopped  his  horses. 

The  Indian  came  forward,  offering  John  Clayton  a 
number  of  fish  strung  on  a  withe.  As  he  did  so,  he 
turned  towards  Esther,  and  said : 

"Ne-she-ad-nlehV 

"What  does  he  mean?"  asked  Esther. 

"I  think  he  wants  to  buy  you  from  me  with  these 
fish,"  answered  John  Clayton,  turning  to  her  with  an 
amused  smile. 

Putting  his  hand  into  a  tin  box,  he  took  from  it  a 
handful  of  cookies,  gave  them  to  the  young  Indian,  and 
drove  on.  As  they  looked  back,  the  last  cake  was  about 
to  disappear  down  the  Indian's  throat. 

"Poor  things,"  said  Esther,  "they  have  had  no 
chance. ' ' 

Then  Kenneth  rallied  her  on  becoming  a  missionary 
to  the  Indians. 

"I'd  be  glad  to  help  them  as  the  early  Jesuit  priests 
did, ' '  she  answered.  *  *  I  cannot  but  feel  that  the  Indian 


230  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

policy  has  been  very  faulty,  and  that  the  Indians  have 
been  the  victims  of  grafters,  some  unprincipled  Indian 
agents,  and  the  scum  of  the  white  race.  You  tell  me, 
Mr.  Clayton,  that  the  Mexican  government  offered  a 
bounty  of  $100  for  every  Apache  man's  scalp,  $50  for 
every  Apache  woman's  scalp,  and  $25  for  every  Apache 
child's  scalp?  I'd  fight,  too,"  she  continued,  indig- 
nantly. "I  know  I'd  fight.  Poor  things!" 

The  company  laughed  at  her  championship,  and  told 
her  how  vicious  the  Apaches  were,  and  many  more  mat- 
ters of  Indian  history. 

The  company  were  approaching  a  narrow  canyon, 
through  which  they  must  pass  for  some  distance.  The 
waters  dashed  and  boiled  in  eddies,  where  huge  bowlders 
obstructed  the  way,  making  a  pleasant  murmur  to  the 
ear,  soft  and  musical  and  low. 

And  Esther  Bright  listened.  Her  heart,  stirred  to 
sudden  anger  by  the  stories  of  injustice  and  cruel  wrong, 
was  soothed  into  quiet  by  this  slumber  song  of  the  ages. 
Oh,  the  music  of  the  waters  of  the  canyon !  How,  once 
heard,  it  echoes  in  the  heart  forever!  In  the  midst  of 
the  unrest  and  discord  of  the  world,  how  the  memory 
of  it  keeps  one  close  to  the  very  heart  of  things !  How 
it  lingers!  How  it  sings! 

They  drove  under,  then  around,  an  overhanging  rock, 
beyond  which,  like  ruins  of  ancient  castles,  storm-scarred, 
majestic,  towered  cliffs  to  a  height  of  a  thousand  feet 
or  more.  The  shadows  had  deepened  in  the  canyon, 
adding  to  the  solemn  grandeur  of  it  all.  From  every 
cleft  of  rock,  apparently,  a  cactus  had  sprung  into  life, 
and  had  blossomed  into  flowers  of  exquisite  beauty.  All 
the  journey  was  like  a  triumphal  way,  garlanded  with 
flowers. 

At  last  they  reached  an  open  place  in  the  canyon, 


NIGHT  ON  THE  RANGE  231 

and  followed  a  track  leading  upward  to  a  level  plain. 
A  short  drive  up  a  rocky  way  brought  them  to  a  vast 
mesa.  Here  they  halted  for  the  night. 

Some  distance  to  the  west,  Esther  spied  a  covered 
wagon  with  horses  tethered  near.  There  was  a  man 
busying  himself  about  the  wagon,  and  about  the  bonfire. 
John  Clayton  explained  to  Esther  that  this  was  the 
cook  for  the  squads  of  cowboys,  and  that  near  where 
the  man  was  working,  the  men  would  camp  for  the  night. 
She  watched  the  movements  of  the  cook  with  some  curi- 
osity. 

The  Clayton  party  had  now  stepped  from  the  surrey, 
and  removed  from  it  the  seats,  blankets,  and  provisions. 
The  two  men  returned  to  the  canyon  to  gather  dry 
driftwood  for  their  fire  for  the  night. 

During  the  ride  of  the  afternoon,  as  the  company  had 
wound  around  the  foothills,  they  had  seen  great  herds 
of  cattle,  thousands  of  cattle,  on  the  hills  and  mesas. 
But  now,  Esther  was  to  see  with  her  own  eyes,  the  great 
event  of  life  on  the  range.  This  vast  out-of-doors  was 
all  so  novel  to  her,  so  intensely  interesting!  She  stood 
and  drew  in  great  breaths  of  air.  Her  eyes  darkened. 
The  pupils  of  her  eyes  had  a  way  of  dilating  whenever 
she  felt  deeply. 

Although  the  cowboys  and  cowlasses  had  told  Esther 
much  about  the  round-ups,  she  felt  quite  ignorant  of 
the  whole  matter.  They  had  explained  to  her  about  the 
free  range,  how  it  was  divided  into  imaginary  sections, 
and  how  the  "boss"  cattleman  would  send  groups  of 
cow-punchers  to  each  of  these  various  sections  to  look 
after  the  cattle. 

John  Clayton  and  Kenneth  Hastings  returned  from 
the  canyon,  bringing  a  can  of  water,  and  dry  driftwood. 
They  at  once  began  to  build  their  bonfire,  and  to 


232  THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  GILA 

prepare  their  evening  meal.  As  they  worked,  they 
talked. 

"If  you  watch  from  here,"  suggested  Kenneth, 
"you'll  see  the  close  of  the  round-up,  comfortably." 

"What  do  they  mean  by  'cutting  out'  the  cattle?" 
asked  Esther. 

"Don't  you  know  that  yet?"  laughed  John  Clayton. 
"That  is  cowboy  slang.  As  the  cow-punchers  approach 
(cow-punchers  are  cowboys,  you  know — )" 

"Yes,  I  know  that  much." 

"Well,  as  they  approach  you  will  see  them  weaving 
in  and  out  among  the  cattle,  lashing  some  with  their 
quirts,  and  driving  them  out  from  the  mass  of  cattle. 
This  is  called  'cutting  out.'  The  cattle  of  different 
owners  all  run  together  on  the  range  until  time  for  the 
round-ups. ' ' 

'  *  How  often  do  they  have  these  ? ' '  she  asked. 

"There  are  two  general  round-ups,  spring  and  fall; 
and  others,  when  necessary  for  extra  shipments  of 
cattle." 

"How  can  they  tell  which  belongs  to  which?" 

"By  the  brand,"  explained  Kenneth.  "Each  cattle 
owner  brands  every  one  of  his  cattle  with  a  certain  mark, 
which  determines  whose  property  the  animal  is." 

The  two  women  now  placed  cushions  on  the  carriage 
seats,  and  sat  down  to  watch  the  close  of  the  round-up. 

The  sunset  was  one  of  unusual  splendor,  the  glory  of 
color  falling  over  the  mesa,  and  the  mountain  peaks  that 
loomed  up  far  away.  As  they  watched  the  sky,  they 
spied  a  cloud  of  dust  in  the  distance. 

"At  last  the  cattle  are  coming!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Clayton. 

The  dust  cloud  grew,  coming  nearer  and  nearer.  It 
had  a  fascination  for  Esther.  While  they  were  specu- 


NIGHT  ON  THE  RANGE  233 

lating  as  to  the  probable  number  of  cattle,  and  the  cow- 
boys and  cowlasses  who  might  be  with  them,  Kenneth 
Hastings  and  John  Clayton  sauntered  over  to  the  mess 
wagon  to  await  the  closing  scene.  From  that  point, 
the  men  watched;  and  from  their  location,  the  women 
watched  the  on-coming  herds.  The  dust  cloud  grew 
larger.  The  great  mass  of  struggling  cattle  came 
steadily  on.  After  a  while,  cowboys  could  be  seen,  and 
whirling  of  ropes.  Nearer  and  nearer  they  came,  the 
cowboys  dealing  stinging  blows  with  their  quirts.  The 
bellowing  of  cattle,  the  cursing  of  men,  and  the  choking 
fog  of  dust,  all  mingled  together,  came  to  the  two 
women,  who  watched  from  a  safe  distance.  In  their  in- 
tense interest,  they  forgot  that  the  supper  hour  was  long 
past,  and  watched.  They  saw  cow-punchers,  weaving  in 
and  out  among  the  cattle,  whirling  ropes,  and  yelling, 
and  cursing  by  turns,  until  each  cowboy  had  separated 
the  cattle  in  his  charge  from  the  others.  It  was  an 
enormous  task.  The  men  were  still  cursing  and  lashing, 
when  the  last  soft  color  of  the  afterglow  faded  from  the 
sky. 

When  the  work  of  the  round-up  was  finally  over,  and 
the  men  were  free  for  the  night,  Esther  heard  the  cook 
call  out  to  them : 

''Grub's  ready!  Cut  out  y'r  talkin'!"  adding  pro- 
fanity, as  if  to  whet  the  appetites  of  the  hungry  men. 
Then  the  cowboys,  dirt-begrimed,  fell  to,  and  were  soon 
eating  with  a  relish  that  would  have  made  dyspeptics 
green  with  envy. 

Slowly,  John  Clayton  and  Kenneth  Hastings  sauntered 
back,  finding  their  own  repast  ready  for  them.  They, 
too,  had  found  a  keen  edge  to  their  appetite.  Esther 
even  went  so  far  as  to  suggest  that  they  might  have  done 
well  to  have  accepted  the  Apache's  fish. 


234  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"Whom  do  you  suppose  we  found  over  there !"  asked 
Mr.  Clayton. 

"Our  boys,"  suggested  Esther. 

"Yes,  several  who  have  been  at  the  club  and  at  the 
meetings.  They  know  you  are  here,  Miss  Bright.  Let's 
see  what  they  '11  do. ' ' 

Before  the  meal  was  over,  the  stars  began  to  appear 
in  the  heavens.  John  Clayton  threw  great  quantities  of 
driftwood  on  the  bonfire,  and  in  a  few  moments,  the 
flames  were  licking  the  logs. 

The  voices  of  the  cow-punchers  came  to  them  now 
and  then,  but  the  profanity  had  ceased.  Suddenly, 
singing  was  heard.  They  listened.  The  cowboys  were 
singing,  "There  were  ninety  and  nine." 

From  the  singing,  it  was  evident  that  the  men  were 
approaching  the  Clayton  camp.  In  a  moment  more, 
they  were  there. 

Would  they  be  seated  ?  John  Clayton  had  asked.  So, 
around  the  camp  fire  they  grouped,  their  faces  and  forms 
indistinct  in  the  flickering  light.  They  made  a  weird 
and  picturesque  group  against  the  darkness  of  the  night. 

"An'  phwat  do  yez  think  now  of  a  round-up?"  asked 
Mike  Maloney,  of  night-school  celebrity.  Mike  had  been 
the  star  pupil  in  arithmetic. 

"Splendid!"  said  Esther,  with  contagious  enthusi- 
asm. "To  see  that  host  of  cattle  approach,  the  ropes 
swinging,  the  horses  rearing  and  plunging,  and  the 
magnificent  setting  of  the  mountains  at  sunset, — why, 
it  was  glorious!" 

The  men  grinned  their  delight. 

Bill  Weeks  then  grew  eloquent  about  cattle. 

"We  come  across  a  herd  o'  antelopes  to-day,"  inter- 
rupted another. 


NIGHT  ON  THE  RANGE  235 

Bill  Weeks  returned  again  to  his  favorite  theme. 
Cattle  were  his  life.  In  the  midst  of  a  dissertation  on 
their  good  points,  he  was  again  interrupted  with: 

"Oh,  cut  that  out!  Ye  kin  talk  cattle  any  old  day. 
We  wants  ter  hear  Miss  Bright  sing." 

"Yes,  sing,"  all  clamored.     "Do  sing!" 

"What  shall  I  sing?" 

"  'Oft  in  the  Stilly  Night,'  "  one  suggested. 

But  they  were  not  satisfied  with  one  song,  and  called 
loudly  for  another.  Then  she  sang,  "Flee  as  a  bird  to 
Your  Mountain." 

Esther  Bright,  as  she  stood  and  sang  that  night,  was 
a  picture  one  could  never  forget. 

Then  around  the  crackling  fire,  story  after  story  was 
told.  The  fire  burned  low.  The  dome  above  sparkled 
with  myriads  of  stars.  At  last  the  cowboys  rose,  and 
returned  to  their  camp. 

"Now  we'll  heap  up  the  fire  for  the  night,  Kenneth," 
said  John  Clayton,  "and  arrange  our  shakedowns." 

"  'Shakedowns/  John?"  said  his  wife.  "You  don't 
call  a  blanket  and  cushion  on  a  mesa  a  shakedown, 
do  you?" 

"Why  not?" 

Then  the  two  men  withdrew  to  the  farther  side  of  the 
fire.  The  women  crawled  into  their  blankets,  and  soon 
felt  the  warmth  of  the  still  heated  earth  upon  which 
they  lay. 

"Good  night!"  called  the  men's  voices,  and  "Good 
night ! ' '  returned  the  women.  Then  silence  brooded  over 
the  camp. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Esther  was  bedded  on  the 
ground.  Her  face  was  turned  upward,  her  eyes,  fixed 
upon  the  starry  deeps.  Hour  after  hour  went  by.  The 


236  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

regular  breathing  of  her  fellow-travelers  assured  her 
that  all  were  asleep.  She  could  not  sleep. 

The  marvelous  scene  above  her  grew  upon  her.  She 
lay  still,  looking,  looking  into  the  infinite,  that  infinite 
around  her,  above  her,  beyond  and  beyond  forever,  who 
knows  whither? 

The  air,  at  first  dark  about  her,  grew  into  a  weird, 
wonderful  light.  The  dome  grew  vaster  and  vaster; 
and,  with  the  marvelous  expansion,  she  began  to  realize 
stars.  They  seemed  to  move  from  their  solid  ebon 
background,  and  to  float  in  space. 

Stars !  What  do  stars  mean  to  the  ordinary  human  ? 
Just  stars  that  come  and  go  as  a  matter  of  course;  just 
as  men  eat  and  drink,  buy  and  sell,  live  and  die.  I  say 
Esther  Bright  began  to  realize  stars.  I  do  not  mean 
by  that  that  she  was  unfamiliar  with  certain  astronom- 
ical facts  all  intelligent  people  are  supposed  to  know. 
Far  from  it.  She  knew  much  of  mathematical  astron- 
omy. It  had  a  fascination  for  her.  But  she  had  not 
realized  stars,  felt  stars,  as  she  was  to  realize  them  this 
night.  All  the  world  was  shut  out  from  her  vision,  save 
that  marvelous  dome  of  sky,  alight  with  myriads  and 
myriads  of  stars,  from  zenith  to  horizon.  She  recalled 
Milton's  description  of  the  floor  of  heaven,  and  reveled 
in  the  thought.  She  gazed  on  one  tremulous  star,  till 
it  seemed  a  soul  in  space,  beckoning  to  her  to  join  it, 
in  the  company  of  the  glorified.  Her  vision  intensified. 
Into  the  Milky  Way  she  gazed,  till  it  seemed  to  her  the 
pathway  up  to  God.  God !  What  was  God  ? 

Then  the  stillness  grew  till  it  seemed  the  Infinite 
Presence.  The  stars,  she  was  sure,  made  a  shining  path- 
way straight  to  her.  Across  the  pathway,  flashed  shoot- 
ing stars.  She  saw  it  all  so  clearly.  Then  the  vast 
space,  up  to  the  shadowy  shores  of  the  Infinite  Sea,  filled 


NIGHT  ON  THE  RANGE  237 

with  a  strange,  unearthly  light.  God!  Was  this  Godf 
Then  she  must  be  on  holy  ground!  She  felt  herself 
lifted  into  the  Everlasting  Arms.  The  wind  rose  and 
whispered  softly.  And  Esther  Bright  slept.  Who  shall 
say  she  did  not  sleep  close  to  the  very  heart  of  God? 


CHAPTER  XIX 

INASMUCH 

WHILE  the  Clayton  party  were  journey- 
ing from  Clifton,  John  Harding  was  on 
guard,  vigilant,  watchful.  In  the  Post 
Office  that  morning,  he  chanced  to  hear 
some  one  repeat  a  boast  Lord  Kelwin  had 
made  in  regard  to  Carla  Earle,  whom  he  had  heretofore 
treated  with  patronizing  condescension. 

John  Harding  returned  to  Clayton  Ranch,  and  in- 
vented excuses  to  be  about  the  house,  saying,  as  he  went 
off  to  do  some  chores,  that  if  they  needed  him,  just  to 
call  him,  adding  that  he  'd  be  within  hearing, 

Carla  and  Edith  joked  a  little  about  his  solicitude,  and 
went  about  their  daily  tasks,  planning  surprises  for 
the  hungry  company,  on  their  return  that  night.  Carla 
seemed  happier  this  day  than  usual,  and  began  to  make 
a  soft  music  in  her  throat  like  the  warbling  of  a  bird. 
She  had  been  alone  in  the  room  for  some  time,  when  she 
heard  a  step.  She  stopped  warbling  when  she  recog- 
nized the  voice  of  Lord  Kelwin,  whom  she  instinctively 
feared. 

He  had  entered  the  house  unannounced,  and  now 
walked  into  the  dining  room. 

"Aha,  my  beauty!"  he  said,  stepping  toward  her. 
"Aha,  my  bird!  Caught  at  last!" 

She  saw  that  he  was  intoxicated. 

"So  you  are  alone  at  last,  bird." 

He  flung  himself  between  her  and  the  door.     Some- 

238 


INASMUCH  239 

thing  in  his  face  filled  her  with  disgust  and  alarm.  He 
kept  coming  towards  her,  uttering  words  of  insolent 
familiarity,  and  she  kept  backing  away.  Finally  he 
lunged  forward,  grasped  her  by  the  arm,  and  tried  to 
hold  her.  Evidently,  he  had  not  counted  on  opposition 
from  her;  and  when  he  found  his  will  thwarted,  all  the 
beast  in  him  seemed  roused.  He  struck  her  in  the 
mouth,  calling  her  vile  names  as  he  did  so.  In  an  in- 
stant, her  shrieks  of  terror  went  ringing  through  the 
house.  They  brought  Edith,  in  sudden  alarm,  and 
John  Harding.  The  latter,  recognizing  the  situation  at 
a  glance,  sprang  forward,  and  clutched  the  Irishman 
by  the  throat. 

' '  Let  her  go, ' '  he  said,  ' '  you  blankety  blanked  coward. 
Let  her  go,  I  say!"  As  he  spoke,  he  gripped  Kel win's 
throat  tightly,  shaking  him  as  if  he  were  a  rat.  Then  he 
grew  dangerously  white. 

The  visitor,  enraged  at  this  unexpected  interference, 
grew  violent.  He  turned  upon  Jack  Harding,  and  drew 
his  gun;  but  Jack,  sober  and  alert,  knocked  the 
gun  from  his  hand;  and,  closing  with  him,  dealt  ter- 
rific blows  in  his  face.  All  the  brute  in  the  drunken 
man  roused.  The  sober  man  had  the  advantage.  The 
struggle  lasted  but  a  few  moments,  though  it  seemed  an 
eternity  to  the  frightened  girls.  Finally,  Jack  Hard- 
ing placed  his  knees  on  Kelwin's  chest  and  arms,  his 
hand  on  his  throat,  choking  him  until  he  gasped  for 
mercy.  Then  the  cowboy  let  him  rise.  As  soon  as 
he  was  free,  he  began  to  curse  Carla  Earle.  Jack  Hard- 
ing promptly  knocked  him  down.  Partly  sobered,  the 
man  rose,  and  staggered  from  the  room. 

Carla  stood  trembling,  her  face  white  with  fear. 

Harding  saw  her  distress,  and  said  with  unusual 
gentleness : 


240  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

" Don't  ye  care,  Miss  Carla.  'Tain't  so,  anyway. 
He  lied.  He'll  pay  for  it." 

"Oh,  don't  meddle  with  him,  I  beg  you,"  she  said 
with  sudden  alarm.  "He  might  shoot  you." 

"Shoot?  Let  him.  But  he  can't  insult  any  decent 
woman,  while  I'm  near  to  protect  her.  Mark  that." 

Carla  turned  to  resume  her  duties,  but  fell  in  a  limp 
heap  on  the  floor.  Then  Edith  and  Jack  Harding 
worked  to  bring  her  to.  At  last  her  eyes  opened.  She 
looked  around,  dazed,  bewildered.  When  she  real- 
ized what  had  happened,  she  asked: 

"Has  that  dreadful  man  gone?" 

On  being  assured  that  he  was  at  a  safe  distance,  she 
tried  to  rise,  but  her  knees  gave  way,  and  she  sank  to 
the  floor  again. 

So  Jack  and  Edith  prepared  the  evening  meal,  and 
waited.  At  last  they  heard  the  sound  of  the  returning 
carriage,  and,  a  few  moments  later,  welcomed  the  party 
at  the  gate. 

When  John  Clayton  heard  what  had  happened,  he 
seemed  dumfounded. 

"How  dared  he?  How  dared  he?"  he  repeated,  in- 
dignantly. 

But  Kenneth's  mouth  set  hard,  and  it  did  not  augur 
well  for  Lord  Kelwin. 

For  one  thing,  all  were  thankful  during  the  ensuing 
weeks, — the  Irish  nobleman  no  longer  came  to  Clayton 
Ranch,  socially,  or  otherwise.  He  managed  to  keep  him- 
self in  the  background,  and  was  seldom  heard  of  save  as 
he  figured  in  some  drunken  brawl.  But  Jack  Harding, 
who  understood  him  best  of  all,  and  who  knew  the  venom 
of  his  tongue,  hounded  him  day  by  day.  And  there 
grew  up  in  Lord  Kel win's  mind  a  deepening  fear  and 
hate  of  Jack  Harding. 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  WOMAN'S  NO 

MILES  and  miles  of  desert  country,  some- 
times a  dull  red,  sometimes  almost  yellow 
of  hue;  over  that  a  dome  of  bluest  blue; 
between  the  two,  air,  crystalline,  and  full 
of  light;  and  everywhere,  scattered  with 
reckless  profusion,  from  Nature's  lavish  hand,  the  splen- 
dor of  cactus  blossoms.  That  is  Arizona  in  June. 
And  in  this  glory  of  color,  one  June  day,  walked  Mrs. 
Clayton  and  Esther  Bright,  returning  from  a  round 
of  neighborhood  calls. 

As  they  approached  Clayton  Ranch,  they  paused  to 
admire  the  cactus  blossoms.  The  giant  cactus,  tower- 
ing above  the  house,  was  now  covered  with  a  profusion 
of  exquisite  blossoms  of  deepest  pink.  Red  blossoms, 
pink  blossoms,  white  blossoms,  yellow  blossoms  every- 
where, but  guarded  by  thousands  of  thorns  and  spines. 
Esther  stopped  and  picked  some  yellow  blossoms  from 
the  prickly  pear,  only  to  find  her  fingers  stinging  from 
its  minute  spines. 

"It  serves  me  right,"  she  said,  making  a  wry  face. 
"I  knew  better,  but  I  love  the  blossoms." 

"Good  evening,"  called  a  cheery  voice  from  the 
veranda.  It  was  Mr.  Clayton. 

"Kenneth  called  to  see  you,  Miss  Bright,"  he  con- 
tinued. ' '  He  would  like  you  to  go  for  a  drive  with  him 
this  evening." 

"Far?"  she  asked. 

241 


242  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"He  didn't  say." 

The  two  women  entered  the  house,  and  soon  returned 
refreshed.  On  the  spacious  veranda,  the  family  gath- 
ered in  the  cool  of  the  day,  to  feast  their  eyes  on  the 
gorgeous  sunsets. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Esther,  "it  refreshes  me  when- 
ever I  look  at  snow-capped  Mt.  Graham?" 

She  looked  far  away  to  the  south.  "I  shall  miss  it 
all,"  she  said,  pensively,  "all  the  grandeur  of  scene, 
miss  all  of  you  here,  miss  my  dear  children,  when  I  go 
home. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  hate  to  think  of  your  going,"  said  Edith,  lift- 
ing the  teacher's  hand  to  her  cheek.  "I'm  afraid  you 
won't  come  back." 

"What's  that  I  hear  about  not  coming  back?"  asked 
Kenneth  Hastings,  who,  at  that  moment,  joined  them. 

"I  said  I  was  afraid  Miss  Bright  wouldn't  come 
back,"  explained  Edith. 

"I  hope  you  are  not  thinking  of  going  East  soon," 
said  Kenneth  quietly. 

When  she  announced  that  she  should,  he  protested 
vigorously. 

That  evening,  Esther  rode  with  him  through  beautiful 
mountain  scenes.  The  heavens  were  still  colored  with 
the  soft  afterglow,  as  they  sped  along  the  upland  road. 
Later,  the  moon  rose,  flooding  the  earth  with  its  weird, 
transfiguring  light. 

Once  more,  Kenneth  told  Esther  his  past.  He  wanted 
her  to  know  all  there  was  to  know,  he  said  simply. 

Then  he  poured  into  her  ears  the  old,  old  story,  sweet- 
est story  ever  told,  when  love  speaks  and  love  listens. 
But  Esther's  eyes  were  haunted  by  a  sudden  fear. 

Kenneth  paused,  and  waited  for  her  to  speak. 


A  WOMAN'S  NO  243 

Then,  with  a  tightening  of  the  lips,  he  listened  to  her 
answer. 

She  had  not  thought  of  love  and  marriage.  She  had 
naturally  grown  into  thinking  that  she  would  devote 
herself  to  philanthropic  work,  as  her  grandfather,  be- 
fore her,  had  done. 

"Yes,"  Kenneth  said;  "but  your  grandfather  mar- 
ried; and  his  children  married,  and  you,  I  take  it,  are 
the  joy  of  his  life.  Suppose  he  had  not  married. 
Would  his  philanthropic  work  have  been  greater?" 

Then  there  was  more  talk,  that  seemed  to  give  pain 
to  both,  for  Esther  said: 

'  *  I  will  go  soon,  and  not  return  ;  for  my  presence  here 
would  only  make  you  unhappy." 

"No,"  he  urged,  "return  to  Gila. 

"You  say  you  regard  marriage  as  very  solemn.  So 
do  I.  You  say  you  would  feel  it  wrong  to  marry  one 
you  did  not  love.  So  should  I.  '  ' 

"I  have  been  candid  with  you,"  she  said  in  evident 
distress.  To  which  he  responded  bitterly  : 

'  '  You  think  me  a  godless  wretch.  Well,  I  guess  I  am. 
But  I  had  begun  to  grope  after  God,  and  stumbled  in 
my  darkness.  I  have  been  beset  with  tormenting  doubts. 
The  idea  of  God  is  so  vast  I  cannot  grasp  even  a 
fraction  of  it.  You  are  right.  I  am  godless." 

"No,  no,  not  godless,"  she  said.  "Jesus  of  Nazareth, 
what  of  Him?" 

'  '  I  am  coming  to  look  upon  him  as  a  brother.  I  could 
have  loved  him  profoundly,  had  I  known  him  when  he 
was  on  earth.  But  it  all  seems  so  far  away  in  the  past. 
To  tell  the  truth,  I  have  read  the  Bible  very  little." 

'  *  Read  it,  '  '  she  urged. 
I  should  feel  all  the  time  that  religion  had  placed 


" 


244  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

a  great  gulf  between  you  and  me,  and  hate  it  in  con- 
sequence. Ought  religion  to  place  a  gulf  between  hu- 
man souls?" 

"The  lack  of  religion  might."  Silence  followed. 
Then  she  continued,  "If  I  loved  you,  loved  you  deeply 
enough,  that  would  sweep  away  all  obstacles." 

"And  perhaps,"  he  added,  "if  I  had  always  lived 
up  to  the  highest  ideals  of  life,  I  might  now  be  worthy 
of  you.  I  am  unworthy,  I  confess  it. ' ' 

"Oh,  don't  put  it  that  way,"  she  said  in  distress. 
"Let  it  be  that  I  am  not  worthy  of  the  love  you  offer 
me,  not  capable  of  loving  enough  to — to — marry." 

1  i  Miss  Bright,  you  are  capable  of  loving,  as  few  women 
are.  It  is  my  misfortune  that  I  have  not  won 
your  love.  I  need  you  to  help  me  live  my  highest  and 
best.  All  these  months,  because  of  your  unconscious 
influence,  I  have  been  learning  to  see  myself  as  I  am, 
and  as  I  might  be.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  have 
come  in  contact  with  a  deeply  religious  soul,  and  have 
felt  myself  struggling  towards  the  light.  I  have 
wrestled  with  doubt,  again  and  again,  bewildered.  You 
teach  us  that  the  founder  of  the  Christian  religion  had 
compassion  on  sinful  men." 

"Yes." 

"But  you  have  no  compassion  on  me." 

"You  misunderstand,"  she  said.  "You  see  it  some- 
times happens  that  there  is  little  real  happiness,  real 
union,  where  the  wife  is  a  believer  in  God,  and  the 
husband  seeks — " 

"The  devil,"  supplemented  Kenneth.  "I  confess  I 
have  followed  the  devil  to  some  extent." 

' l  Don 't, ' '  she  said.  ' '  It  hurts  me  to  the  heart  to  hear 
you  speak  so.  I  meant  to  say  if  he  had  no  sympathy 
with  her  spiritual  life." 


A  WOMAN'S  NO  245 

"If  I  were  a  professing  Christian,  do  you  think  you 
would  care  more  for  me  ? " 

"I  might" 

"  Suppose  I  pretended  to  be  a  Christian.  Many  make 
that  pretense,  and  are  accounted  the  real  thing." 

"Dear  Mr.  Hastings,  let  me  be  a  sincere  and  loyal 
friend  to  you,  no  more.  Some  day,  I  hope,  you  will 
win,  in  marriage,  some  rare  woman  who  will  make  you 
happy." 

"Some  rare  woman?  You  are  that  one,  Miss  Bright. 
I  want  no  other." 

"But  you  mustn't  think  of  me,  Mr.  Hastings." 

"Do  you  know  what  you  are,  Miss  Bright?  You  are 
an  iceberg." 

She  laughed. 

"That's  fortunate.  You  will  not  long  care  for  an 
iceberg.  I  will  go  soon,  and  you  will  forget  me. ' ' 

He  turned  upon  her. 

'  *  Forget  you  ?  Do  you  really  wish  me  to  forget  you  ? ' ' 
Did  she?  She  wondered. 

"No,"  she  answered.  Then  over  her  face,  lifted  in 
the  moonlight,  he  saw  the  color  come. 

Their  talk  drifted  to  many  subjects  touching  the  life  in 
Gila,  and  the  larger  world  outside,  to  which  she  was 
soon  to  return. 

"Will  you  write  to  me?"  he  asked. 

"That  would  make  it  harder  for  you  to  forget,"  she 
said,  naively. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  forget,"  he  said  gloomily.  "Why 
should  I  forget  the  happiest  hours  I  have  ever  spent?" 
Why  should  he? 

Back  at  Clayton  Ranch,  an  older  pair  of  lovers,  mar- 
ried lovers,  walked  up  and  down  the  veranda  in  the 
moonlight. 


246  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"John,"  a  soft  voice  was  saying,  "I  just  hope  Ken- 
neth will  propose  to  Miss  Bright  to-night." 

He  laughed. 

"You  women!  Always  interested  in  a  love  story! 
How  do  you  know  Kenneth  hasn't  proposed  to  her 
already?" 

"I  don't  believe  he  has." 

Another  silence. 

"John?" 

"Yes,  Mary." 

' '  Does  Miss  Bright  know  what  a  vast  fortune  Kenneth 
has  inherited?" 

"No.  Not  unless  you  have  told  her.  He  does  not 
wish  her  to  know." 

.  "But,  John,  that  might  influence  Miss  Bright 's  de- 
cision. You  know  these  Americans  care  a  great  deal 
for  money." 

"For  shame,  Mary,  to  think  such  a  thing  of  her! 
Perhaps  you  do  not  know  that  her  grandfather  is  a 
man  of  affluence.  But  he  believes  in  the  simple  life, 
and  lives  it.  She  belongs  to  a  fine  old  family,  people 
of  distinction,  and  wealth." 

"Is  that  true,  John?  She  never  told  me.  How  can 
she  work  like  a  galley  slave  here  ? ' ' 

"Because   she   is  a  great  woman."     Silence   again. 

"With  her  mind,  and  heart,  and  passion  for  service, 
and  Kenneth's  intellect,  and  force  of  character,  and  vast 
wealth,  they  might  be  a  tremendous  force  for  the  prog- 
ress of  the  human  race. ' ' 

"Can't  you  help  matters  on,  John?  I'm  so  afraid 
Miss  Bright  will  reject  Kenneth,  and  leave  us." 

"Well,  if  she  does,  I  shall  be  sorry.  But  we  must 
keep  hands  off." 

On  the  following  day,  John  Clayton  was  astounded 


A  WOMAN'S  NO  247 

to  hear  from  Esther  that  she  would  not  return  as  she 
had  half  promised  to  do  in  the  fall. 

But  Esther  offered  no  explanations;  and  Kenneth's 
calls,  from  that  day,  grew  less  frequent. 

So  the  days  passed,  and  two  lives  drifted  apart. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  VALLEY  OP  THE  SHADOW 

A'  the  close  of  the  religious  service,  the  follow- 
ing day,  Esther  learned  of  many  cases  of 
sickness,  in  and  about  Gila,  and  especially 
along  the  water  courses.  A  sort  of  a  fever, 
the  people  told  her.  She  resolved  to  make 
neighborhood  calls  the  following  day,  and  to  take  with 
her  a  case  of  medicine.  She  found  many  people  sick 
with  what  seemed  to  be  the  same  malady;  and,  there- 
upon, began  a  thorough  investigation.  The  result  was 
that  she  persuaded  the  people  to  let  her  call  a  phy- 
sician. 

On  the  following  day,  Dr.  Mishell  drove  into 
camp,  and  Esther  made  the  rounds  with  him.  As  she 
suspected,  the  malady  proved  to  be  typhoid  fever. 

"These  people  must  have  intelligent  care,"  the  phy- 
sician said  gruffly  to  her.  "Do  you  know  anything 
about  nursing?" 

She  told  him  she  had  nursed  two  patients  through 
typhoid  fever. 

"You  know  how  to  take  respiration  and  temperature, 
then?"  he  said  brusquely. 

She  assured  him  she  did. 

Then  he  wrote  out  directions  for  each  patient,  es- 
pecially noting  what  to  do,  if  certain  conditions  should 
arise. 

"You  know  the  importance  of  sponging  patients?" 
he  asked  shortly. 

248 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW    249 

"Yes." 

"Any  alcohol?" 

"I  can  get  it." 

And  so  Esther  Bright  was  installed  head  nurse  in 
Gila.  Helpers  rallied  to  her  aid. 

School  was  dismissed  at  an  early  hour  each  day,  so 
that  Esther  could  make  the  rounds  daily. 

The  heat  grew  almost  intolerable,  but  the  delicate 
girl  went  on  her  way  as  if  made  of  iron.  Dr.  Mishell 
looked  her  over  with  a  nod  of  approval. 

"A  woman  of  sense,"  he  said,  in  speaking  of  her  to 
Kenneth  Hastings. 

The  physician  came  again  in  three  days,  only  to  find 
many  new  cases.  Esther  Bright 's  task  was  becoming 
enormous. 

"Can  you  do  it?"  the  physician  had  asked.  And 
quietly  she  had  answered : 

"I  can  do  it  as  long  as  anyone  needs  my  care." 

Again  the  physician  nodded  approvingly,  and  mut- 
tered : 

* '  Some  women  do  have  some  sense. ' ' 

When  this  second  visit  drew  to  a  close,  he  looked 
sharply  at  Esther,  and  said  in  a  crusty  tone : 

"You  are  working  too  hard." 

She  protested. 

"I  say  you  are!"  he  reiterated.  "I'm  going  to  find 
someone  to  come  help  you.  Mr.  Clayton  wishes  it.  Are 
you  a  Catholic?" 

"No,  a  Quaker." 

"Quaker!  Quaker!"  he  repeated.  "No  objections 
to  a  Catholic,  I  suppose?" 

"No  objections  to  any  human  being  who  serves  hu- 
manity. ' ' 

The  old  man  left  her  abruptly.     As  he  untied  his 


250  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

horse,  preparatory  to  leaving,  he  muttered  to  himself: 
''A  very  unusual  woman.     A  very  unusual  woman!" 
Late  on  the   following   day,   when   Esther   returned 
from   her   rounds,    she   found   the   Mexican,   who   had 
come    to    the    Christmas    entertainment,    awaiting    her. 
After  learning  that  his  Indian  wife  was  sick,  she  gath- 
ered up  her  medical  outfit,  and  started  with  him  up  the 
canyon.     It  was  a  long  and  fatiguing  tramp. 

The  Indian  woman  proved  to  be  another  fever  pa- 
tient. She  refused  the  medicine,  but  drank  the  beef 
juice  the  nurse  offered  her.  After  trying  to  make  the 
Mexican  understand  what  to  do  till  she  came  again, 
Esther  started  down  the  canyon  alone. 

It  was  nearly  dark.  After  walking  some  distance, 
she  heard  the  cry  of  wolves.  The  cries  came  nearer. 
She  quickened  her  pace  to  a  run,  when,  catching  her  foot, 
she  was  thrown  violently  forward  into  the  stream  below. 
She  struggled  to  regain  her  footing,  to  climb  to  the 
bowlder  from  which  she  had  fallen;  but  suddenly  dis- 
covered that  she  had  in  some  way  twisted  her  ankle, 
and  that  she  could  not  bear  her  weight  on  that  foot. 
What  was  she  to  do?  She  was  still  over  a  mile  from 
Clayton  Ranch.  If  she  called,  no  one  could  hear  her. 
Oh,  those  wolves!  Their  cries  sent  a  chill  of  terror 
through  her.  Again  she  struggled  to  climb  up  on  the 
bank,  but  the  bowlder  above  her  was  slippery,  and  there 
was  nothing  to  cling  to.  At  last  she  sent  a  loud  cry 
for  help  echoing  down  the  canyon.  Then  she  listened. 
Suddenly  she  heard  a  step  above  her.  It  was  the  young 
Apache  who  had  visited  the  school.  His  coming  was 
about  as  welcome  to  her  as  the  wolves  would  be. 
him.  She  shook  her  head,  pointed  to  her  ankle,  and 
"Ne-she-ad-nleh',''  he  said,  beckoning  her  to  join 
again  tried  to  climb.  Her  efforts  were  futile.  Then 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW         251 

the  Indian  lifted  her,  carried  her  to  a  level  place, 
and  set  her  down.  She  was  unable  to  bear  her  weight 
on  the  injured  foot,  and  fell.  She  pointed  to  her 
ankle,  then  down  towards  Gila,  hoping  the  Indian  might 
make  her  plight  known  to  the  people  in  camp. 

As  if  in  answer  to  her  pantomimic  request,  he  lifted 
her  easily  in  his  arms,  and  strode  swiftly  down  the 
canyon.  Could  it  be  that  he  had  rescued  her  in  order 
to  return  her  to  her  friends  ?  It  seemed  so. 

At  last  it  occurred  to  her  to  sing  her  call  for  help,  to 
attract  the  attention  of  any  miner,  or  charcoal  tender 
who  might  chance  to  be  going  up  or  down  the  canyon. 
So  with  all  the  volume  she  could  muster,  she  sang  words, 
telling  her  plight. 

Every  little  while  the  Apache  would  repeat  the  words : 

"Ne-she-ad-nleh'." 

What  could  he  mean? 

About  the  time  Esther  was  caring  for  the  sick  squaw, 
Kenneth  Hastings  learned  from  Wathemah  that  the 
teacher  had  gone  to  the  Mexican's  shack  up  the  canyon. 
He  was  filled  with  alarm. 

" What's  that  ye  are  sayin',  Wathemah?"  asked  Pete 
Tompkins,  who,  passing  along,  had  overheard  the  con- 
versation. 

"Me  teacher  up  canyon.  Mexican.  Sick  squaw," 
replied  the  child  laconically. 

"Are  you  sure,  Wathemah?"  questioned  Kenneth. 

The  child  nodded  his  head,  and  pointed  toward  the 
canyon. 

"Them  devilish  Apaches  has  been  about  camp  all 
day, ' '  said  Pete  Tompkins,  stopping  to  speak  to  Kenneth. 
"I  seen  some  of  'em  goin'  up  canyon  jest  'fore  dark." 

"We  must  go  to  Miss  Bright 's  rescue  at  once!"  said 
Kenneth  excitedly. 


252  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"I'm  with  ye,"  said  Pete  Tompkins.  "If  a  blanked 
savage  harms  that  air  schoolma'am  I'll  smash  his  skull 
with  the  butt  o'  my  gun.  I'll  jine  y'r  party.  Let's 
take  all  the  hounds.  We  're  likely  ter  run  across  more  'n 
one  Apache.  Hello,  kids!"  he  called  out.  "Jine  a 
rescue  party.  The  schoolma'am's  went  up  canyon  ter 
tend  sick  squaw, — the  Mexican's  woman.  Them  devil- 
ish Apaches  is  up  through  the  canyon,  an'  we're  afeard 
they'll  capture  schoolma'am." 

Ten  well-armed  men,  some  mounted,  some  unmounted, 
started  up  the  canyon.  On  their  way,  they  met  John 
Clayton,  who  joined  them.  His  horse  was  neck  and 
neck  with  Kenneth's. 

"Good  God!"  said  the  former  to  his  companion. 
"What  may  have  happened  to  Miss  Bright?  What  may 
yet  happen  to  her?" 

Kenneth  made  no  reply,  but  his  face  was  tense. 

These  two  men  were  in  advance,  closely  followed 
by  Jack  Harding  and  Pete  Tompkins,  on  their  Mexican 
ponies. 

Suddenly,  the  party  heard  the  distant  cry  of  wolves, 
and — was  it  a  human  voice? — they  strained  their  ears 
to  hear.  It  was  a  human  voice,  a  woman 's  voice.  They 
dug  their  spurs  into  their  horses'  sides,  and  fairly  flew. 

As  they  were  journeying  up  the  canyon,  the  savage, 
with  his  captive  in  his  arms,  was  speeding  down  the 
canyon.  Suddenly  he  turned,  and  took  the  trail  lead- 
ing towards  the  Apache  reservation. 

Esther's  song  for  help  died  on  her  lips.  Every 
moment  seemed  eternity;  every  step,  miles  away  from 
hope  of  rescue.  Then  with  the  energy  born  of  despair, 
she  sang  again  so  that  her  song  reached  the  ears  of  her 
rescuers : 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW    253 

"Abide  with  me! 

Fast  falls  the  eventide. 

The    darkness   deepens — 

Lord,  with  me  abide! 

When  other  helpers  fail  and  comforts  flee, 
Help  of  the  helpless,  O,  abide  with  me!" 

Then  she  listened.  Could  it  be  the  baying  of  hounds 
she  heard?  Her  heart  beat  faster.  She  was  not  mis- 
taken ;  she  had  heard  the  hounds.  And  now  she  heard  the 
shouts  of  men.  She  began  to  sing  again,  but  the  Indian 
pressed  his  hand  over  her  mouth,  and  tightening  his 
hold  with  his  other  arm,  started  to  run  with  her.  She 
struggled  desperately.  He  held  her  like  a  vise.  She 
screamed  for  help,  as  she  continued  to  struggle. 

* '  Courage ! ' '  came  ringing  back  in  response  to  her  cry. 
She  knew  the  voice.  It  was  the  voice  of  Kenneth  Hast- 
ings. 

Again  the  Apache  muttered  in  her  ear: 

"Ne-she-ad-nleh'." 

She  realized  that  the  men  were  gaining  rapidly  upon 
them,  and  struggled  more  violently  to  free  herself. 

As  the  Apache  ran,  his  breath  came  harder.  It  was 
no  easy  task  to  carry  his  struggling  captive,  and  escape 
his  pursuers.  Still  he  kept  up  a  remarkable  speed. 

A  moment  more,  the  hounds  came  upon  him.  He 
kicked  desperately,  but  could  not  free  himself  from  them. 
Then,  winding  his  fingers  around  Esther's  throat,  he 
choked  her,  and  threw  her  to  the  ground.  He  lifted  his 
gun,  faced  his  pursuers,  and  fired.  The  ball  entered 
the  chest  of  Kenneth  Hastings,  who  was  in  hot  pursuit, 
and  nearing  the  Indian.  Kenneth  fell  from  his  horse, 
and  the  savage  escaped. 

"My  God!"  exclaimed  John  Clayton,  as  he  came  up. 
He  sprang  from  his  saddle,  and  knelt  by  Kenneth's 


254  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

side.  A  little  farther  on  lay  Esther,  unconscious.  Her 
face  was  ghastly  in  the  dim  light,  her  clothing  wet. 

" Brandy!"  he  called.     "Any  one  got  brandy?" 

"Here,"  said  Pete  Tompkins,  stepping  forward; 
"here's  a  flask." 

With  shaking  hand,  John  Clayton  tried  to  staunch  the 
wound  in  Kenneth's  shoulder.  Then  he  put  brandy  be- 
tween his  lips,  then  between  Esther's.  She  was  like  ice. 

"The  brute!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  fear  he  has  killed 
her!" 

Then  he  pulled  off  his  coat  and  wrapped  it  about  the 
girl,  saying  as  he  did  so: 

'l  If  she  is  not  dead,  the  warmth  may  do  her  good. 
Some  one  ride  ahead  and  prepare  Mrs.  Clayton." 

"I'll  go,  sir,"  said  a  Scotch  miner,  mounting  one  of 
the  ponies. 

"Thank  you.  Tell  Mrs.  Clayton  that  Miss  Bright  and 
Mr.  Hastings  have  met  with  an  accident,  and  both  are 
unconscious.  Tell  her  to  have  hot  water  and  blankets 
ready. ' ' 

"Come,  John,"  he  said,  turning  to  Jack  Harding. 
' '  Just  help  me  lift  Miss  Bright  to  my  saddle. ' '  Mechan- 
ically the  cowboy  obeyed. 

"Can  one  of  you  fellows  carry  Hastings  on  his  horse ? ' ' 

Jack  Harding  volunteered. 

Few  words  were  spoken  by  any  of  the  men,  as  they 
made  their  way  back  to  camp. 

Pete  Tompkins  had  noisily  boasted  that  he  would  kill 
the  Indian ;  but,  hearing  no  reply  from  any  one,  he  sub- 
sided. In  spite  of  his  coarseness  and  vulgarity,  he  was 
touched  by  the  tragic  ending  of  the  young  teacher's  life, 
and  by  the  evident  sorrow  of  his  companions.  He  looked 
at  the  still,  white  face,  and  something  tugged  at  his 
heart. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW    255 

As  they  passed  Keith's  house,  Mrs.  Keith  ran  out. 

4 "Ere!"  she  said.  "Wrap  'er  in  this  'ere  warm 
shawl." 

Wathemah  ran  after  them,  asking  anxiously : 

"Me  teacher  sick?" 

"Yes,  very  sick,  Wathemah,"  answered  Clayton. 

Just  as  they  reached  the  Clayton  home,  Esther  roused, 
and  said  in  a  dazed  way : 

"Where  am  I?" 

"You  are  at  home,"  answered  her  host,  as  he  carried 
her  into  the  house.  "Do  you  feel  better?"  he  asked,  as 
he  laid  her  on  the  couch. 

"What  has  happened?"  she  asked,  showing  no  sign 
of  recognition. 

"We  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Clayton,  bending  over 
her. 

She  moaned. 

"Don't  you  remember  the  Indian  who  came  to  the 
schoolhouse?"  questioned  Mr.  Clayton  anxiously. 

' '  Indian  ?  Schoolhouse  ? "  she  repeated  in  a  perplexed 
way.  "Where  am  I?" 

"Here  with  Mrs.  Clayton,"  said  her  hostess. 

' '  Mrs.  Clayton  ?     Who  is  she  ? ' '  asked  Esther,  vacantly. 

The  group  about  her  exchanged  troubled  glances. 

John  Harding  was  already  on  his  way  to  the  railway 
station  to  telegraph  for  Dr.  Mishell. 

Kenneth  Hastings,  now  conscious,  was  lying  on  a  bed 
in  the   Clayton  home.     John   Clayton  bent  over  him, 
staunching  the  blood  the  best  he  could.    In  the  midst  of 
this,  they  heard  a  sharp  cry  from  Esther. 
"What  is  it?"  questioned  Kenneth. 
"Miss   Bright!"   exclaimed   John    Clayton,    starting 
towards  the  room  where  the  teacher  and  his  wife  were. 
Returning,  he  explained  that   Esther  had   apparently 


256  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

sprained  her  ankle,  for  it  was  badly  swollen,  and  prob- 
ably very  painful,  when  Mrs.  Clayton  attempted  to  re- 
move her  shoe. 

Kenneth  made  no  response,  but,  for  a  while,  lay  with 
eyes  closed.  He  started  when  John  Clayton  told  him 
that,  as  yet,  Esther  had  not  recognized  any  of  the  family. 

It  was  a  long  and  anxious  night  for  the  ones  who 
watched.  In  the  morning,  when  Esther  wakened,  she 
called  her  companion  by  name. 

"Carla,"  she  said,  "I  dreamed  something  dreadful 
had  happened. " 

As  she  spoke,  she  attempted  to  rise.  A  twinge  of 
pain  in  her  foot  stopped  her. 

"What  has  happened?"  she  asked. 

"You  sprained  your  ankle  yesterday,"  Carla  ex- 
plained. 

"Yesterday?"  she  repeated,  in  a  puzzled  way,  as  if 
trying  to  think  of  something.  "Strange,  but  I  can't 
recall  yesterday." 

"Dr.  Mishell  is  coming  to  look  at  your  ankle  soon." 

"Dr.  Mishell!  Dr.  Mishell!"  Esther  said,  slowly. 
Then  a  light  came  into  her  face.  ' '  Oh,  yes !  Now  I 
remember.  He  came  to  Gila  to  see  our  sick  people  once, 
didn't  he?  I  must  dress  so  as  to  make  the  rounds  with 
him." 

So  saying,  she  started  again  to  rise,  but  sank  back 
with  a  pale  face. 

"My  foot,  and  head,  and  throat  are  so  painful.  It's 
so  queer.  I  feel  ill,  too.  What  has  happened?"  she 
asked  again. 

"You  were  injured,  somehow,"  explained  Carla,  "and 
were  unconscious,  when  found.  Mr.  Hastings  was  un- 
conscious, too." 

' '  Mr.  Hastings  1    Is  he  here  ? ' ' 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW         257 


"Yes." 

"And  sick?" 

1 1 


Very.  Dr.  Mishell  and  Sister  Mercy,  the  Catholic 
sister,  are  with  him  now." 

"I  must  help  take  care  of  Mr.  Hastings,  Carla." 

"By  and  by,  perhaps,"  said  the  girl,  soothingly. 
"You  must  get  well  yourself  first." 

Kenneth  Hastings'  condition  proved  to  be  more  seri- 
ous than  they  thought,  and  Dr.  Mishell  looked  grave. 
He  had  removed  the  bullet,  and  Sister  Mercy  had  as- 
sisted him.  When  at  last  the  wound  was  dressed,  Dr. 
Mishell  visited  the  other  patient.  He  examined  her 
ankle,  and  pronounced  it  a  bad  sprain.  He  examined 
her  head,  and  looking  towards  Mrs.  Clayton,  said: 

"It  is  as  you  surmised,  concussion.  Probably  due  to 
a  fall." 

He  gave  a  few  directions  to  Sister  Mercy,  and  after 
a  few  gruff,  but  kindly,  words,  deparated,  to  look  after 
his  other  patients  in  Gila. 

Now,  Carla  Earle  began  her  career  as  a  nurse,  and 
soon  her  ministrations  were  known  in  every  house,  and 
shack,  where  fever  had  entered. 

After  Esther  learned  the  details  of  her  rescue,  and  of 
how  Kenneth  Hastings  had  again  risked  his  life  for  hers, 
she  grew  abstracted,  talked  little,  and  ate  less.  And 
after  she  had  learned  that  he  was  critically  ill,  delirious, 
as  a  result  of  the  wound  received  in  rescuing  her,  her 
sorrow  became  patent  to  all.  Could  she  not  see  him? 
But  Sister  Mercy  guarded  her  patient,  and  watched,  and 
prayed  the  prayers  of  her  church.  Physician  and  nurse 
both  knew  that  Kenneth's  life  hung  by  a  thread.  The 
sick  man  talked  in  his  delirium;  and  his  heart  story 
lodged  in  the  heart  of  the  nurse,  who  watched  by  him, 
and  who  nursed  him  back  to  life. 


258  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

When  Esther  was  able  to  go  about  on  crutches,  she 
visited  her  patients  who  were  nearest  to  Clayton  Ranch. 
One  day  Patrick  Murphy  called  on  her. 

"How  are  Brigham  and  Kathleen?"  she  asked,  as  she 
greeted  him.  "I  hope  they  are  better." 

"No  betther,  Miss,"  he  said,  struggling  for  composure. 
"The  docther  has  been  lavin'  av  his  midicine,  an'  Carla 
(I  mean  Miss  Earle)  has  came  each  day  (the  saints  bliss 
her!)  but  still  the  faver  is  bad.  An'  Brigham — " 

He  could  say  no  more.    After  a  while,  he  continued : 

"An'  Brigham  begs  me  ter  bring  yez  to  him.  He  in- 
sists upon  callin'  yez  his  Christ  teacher,  ma'am.  He 
asks  ivery  day  has  yez  come,  an'  cries  wid  disappoint- 
mint,  whin  he  foinds  yez  are  not  there.  I  told  him  I 
would  bring  yez  back  wid  me  if  yez  could  come. ' ' 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  she  promised,  "as  soon  as  I  speak 
to  Mrs.  Clayton." 

When  Esther  entered  the  sick  room  at  the  Murphy 
home,  she  found  two  critical  cases  of  typhoid  fever. 
Their  temperature  was  so  high  shq  was  filled  with  alarm. 
She  questioned  the  mother  closely,  as  to  what  had  thus 
far  been  done  for  the  children. 

"Did  you  follow  the  doctor's  directions?"  she  asked. 

"No,  Miss,  I  didn't  think  it  worth  while.  Back  East 
where  I  wuz  riz,  they  didn't  think  it  necessary  ter  wash 
sick  folks  with  sody  an'  water  every  day,  an'  alkyhol  be- 
sides. They  jest  let  sick  folks  be  in  peace,  an'  give  'em  a 
good  washin '  after  they  was  corpses. ' ' 

' '  But  you  see,  Mrs.  Murphy,  we  must  sponge  typhoid 
patients  with  water  and  with  alcohol,  to  lower  their  tem- 
perature. Brigham 's  fever  is  very  high." 

"I  done  all  I  could  fur  him,"  sniffled  the  mother. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Esther,  kindly.  "What  has  he 
eaten?  Did  you  give  him  the  beef  juice?" 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW    259 

"No,  mum.  That  wuz  no  eatin'  at  all.  I  give  him 
meat  an'  potatoes  an'  cabbage,  jest  the  way  he  liked  'em 
cooked,"  she  said,  wiping  her  eyes  on  her  apron.  "He 
ain't  eat  none  sence.  He  jest  cries  an'  cries  fur  ye, 
Miss." 

' '  Brigham  is  very  sick, ' '  the  teacher  said,  gently.  ' i  He 
may  not  recover.  Shall  I  take  care  of  him?" 

"Yes,  Miss,  I  wisht  yer  would." 

Esther  called  for  water  and  clean  linen.  She  sponged 
the  children,  made  the  necessary  changes,  ventilated  the 
room,  and  closed  the  door  into  the  living  room ;  and  for 
the  first  time  since  their  illness  began,  the  children  had 
quiet.  The  angel  of  Death  hovered  near,  and  the  Mur- 
phy family  were  filled  with  an  indefinable  fear. 

Esther  watched  over  the  two  children  throughout  the 
night.  Brigham  was  delirious.  Once  he  seemed  terri- 
fied, and  called  out : 

"Mamma,  don't  hurt  my  teacher!  Wathemah,  what 
did  my  teacher  tell  yer  about  Jesus?  Has  my  teacher 
come?" 

At  daybreak,  when  Esther  gave  him  his  medicine,  he 
knew  her  and  smiled.  As  she  bent  over  him,  he  said : 

1 1 1  knowed  ye  'd  come.     Is  Jesus  near  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  very  near,  dear,"  she  answered,  softly. 

"An'  He  loves  little  childern?" 

"Yes,  dear,  loves  them  dearly." 

"I  am  so  glad."  He  closed  his  eyes  and  seemed  smil- 
ing in  his  sleep.  Eousing  again,  he  said  in  a  weak  voice : 

"I  am  so  tired.    Will  yer  carry  me  ter  Jesus?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

Then  tenderly  the  teacher's  arms  went  around  the  lit- 
tle form.  She  said,  aloud: 

"Dear  Jesus,  I  have  brought  you  little  Brigham,  be- 
cause you  love  little  children.  He  is  too  tired  to  go  any 


260  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

farther  alone,  so  I  have  brought  him  to  you.  Please 
carry  him  the  rest  of  the  way  home. ' ' 

Gently,  she  drew  her  arm  away.  The  child  smiled  as 
if  satisfied,  and  dozed  off  again. 

It  was  late  in  the  morning,  when  Dr.  Mishell  reached 
Murphy  Ranch.  He  looked  grave  as  he  watched  Brig- 
ham. 

"Better  remain  here  if  you  can,  Miss  Bright.  Good 
nursing  will  save  the  girl,  and  may  save  the  boy;  but  it 
is  doubtful.  You  realize  he  is  in  a  critical  condition." 

"Yes.  I  will  remain,  Doctor;  but  Miss  Earle  will 
need  help  with  the  other  patients." 

"Oh,  Miss  Earle  is  doing  finely,"  he  assured  her. 
"And  with  one  exception,  none  of  the  cases  are  as  se- 
rious as  these  two." 

"Who  is  the  exception?" 

'  '  I  believe  his  name  is  Clifton.  A  cowboy  by  the  name 
of  Harding  has  gone  to  his  shack,  to-day,  to  nurse  him. ' ' 

"Just  like  him,"  she  thought. 

She  made  no  reply.  As  the  day  wore  on,  Kathleen's 
fever  decreased,  but  Brigham  's  increased.  The  boy  again 
grew  delirious.  He  repeatedly  called  Wathemah  and  his 
teacher.  As  night  drew  near,  he  grew  worse.  The  par- 
ents stood  near  the  bed,  weeping.  Suddenly  the  child 
cried  out: 

"Papa,  won't  yer  bring  my  teacher?  She  knows  the 
way  ter  heaven." 

"She's  here,  lad,"  he  said,  taking  one  of  Brigham 's 
hands  in  his.  Then  the  father  repeated  the  prayers  of 
his  church. 

At  dawn,  Brigham  lifted  his  arms,  and  smiled.  He 
had  found  the  Open  Door. 

"When  the  Murphy  children  knew  their  brother  was 
dead,  they  were  filled  with  awe,  and  huddled  in  one  cor- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW         261 

ner  of  the  living  room.  The  mother  sobbed  aloud,  but 
refused  to  come  near  or  touch  the  still  little  figure. 

The  teacher,  with  tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks,  pre- 
pared her  little  friend's  body  for  burial.  Then  she 
spoke  again  to  the  father,  reminding  him  of  further  prep- 
arations. He  rose,  and,  going  into  the  room,  where  the 
family  were  gathered,  said: 

"We  must  have  a  wake.     Poor  Brigham." 

"No,  yer  won't  have  no  Oath 'lie  doin's  with  Brig- 
ham,"  responded  his  wife. 

' '  Suppose, ' '  interposed  the  teacher, ' '  we  have  a  funeral 
service  for  Brigham  in  the  schoolhouse,  among  the  chil- 
dren he  loved." 

"Shure!"  responded  the  father,  wiping  his  eyes, 
"that  'd  be  jist  the  thing." 

"Do  you  approve,  Mrs.  Murphy?"  asked  the  teacher. 

' '  Yes,  Miss.  That  'd  please  Brigham,  I  know. ' '  And 
again  she  sobbed. 

So  Brigham  was  carried  to  the  schoolhouse.  The 
teacher  placed  a  crucifix  at  the  head  of  the  coffin,  and 
lighted  several  candles.  It  was  the  first  time  religious 
services  for  the  dead  had  ever  been  held  in  Gila.  Here- 
tofore, the  dead  had  simply  been  buried. 

The  schoolroom  was  filled  to  its  uttermost.  The  girl 
preacher  rose  and  told  them  of  Brigham 's  lovely  life 
ever  since  she  had  known  him,  of  his  interest  in  Jesus, 
and  of  his  desire  to  know  the  way  to  heaven.  She  told 
of  his  last  words,  and  how  he  asked  her  to  carry  him  to 
Jesus.  As  she  spoke,  tears  rolled  quietly  down  the 
bronzed  cheeks  of  many  a  man  and  woman  whose  life 
had  been  one  long  record  of  sin. 

Near  the  coffin,  stood  Wathemah,  his  eyes  riveted  upon 
the  face  of  his  little  comrade.  The  teacher  saw  the  child 
take  off  his  string  of  beads  and  lay  it  in  the  coffin. 


262  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

They  buried  Brigham  on  the  foothills,  and  left  him 
alone ; — no,  not  alone,  for  Wathemah  remained  standing 
like  a  sentinel  beside  the  grave  of  his  little  friend. 

Wathemah  did  not  return  to  Mrs.  Keith's  as  usual  for 
supper.  Neither  was  he  in  his  little  bunk  that  night. 
No  Wathemah  appeared  for  breakfast.  Inquiries  began 
to  be  circulated.  Where  was  Wathemah?  Esther  grew 
very  uneasy,  and  started  out  to  search  for  him  herself. 
She  returned  disappointed.  An  hour  later,  Jack  Hard- 
ing returned  with  the  child.  He  had  found  him  keeping 
watch  by  Brigham 's  grave.  So  deep  is  the  Apache's  af- 
fection, so  real  his  grief. 

Esther  gathered  Wathemah  in  her  arms,  and  talked 
to  him  long  of  Brigham.  Henceforth,  to  that  little  child, 
as  to  many  of  his  race,  the  heavens  would  be  full  of  the 
Great  Spirit. 

"Can  Brigham  see  me  from  the  sky?"  asked  Wathe- 
mah. 

"I  think  so,  dear.  You'll  want  to  be  a  good  boy, 
won't  you?" 

For  answer,  he  burst  into  tears,  and  she  mingled  her 
own  with  his. 

From  that  time  on,  Wathemah  loved  the  stars  at  night, 
and  would  stand  watching  them  with  deepening  wonder 
and  awe.  Then  began  his  questioning  of  things  eternal, 
that  upreach  of  the  soul,  that  links  it  to  the  Divine. 

The  day  after  Esther's  return  to  Clayton  Ranch,  Dr. 
Mishell  asked  her  to  go  with  him  to  the  shack  of  Mark 
Clifton. 

' '  He  cannot  recover, ' '  he  said.  ' '  He  realizes  that.  He 
has  repeatedly  asked  to  see  you." 

As  they  approached  the  shack,  they  heard  a  voice. 
Jack  Harding  was  reading  aloud  from  the  Bible. 

On  the  walls  of  the  shack,  were  guns,  hides,  and  coarse 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW    263 

pictures;  in  one  corner,  were  a  case  of  whiskey  bottles, 
and  a  pack  of  cards.  The  sick  man  seemed  to  be  a  man 
of  about  thirty.  He  greeted  his  visitors  courteously,  and 
at  once  turned  to  Esther. 

"I  have  asked  to  see  you,"  he  said.  "I  think  I  can- 
not recover.  I  am  not  prepared  to  die.  I  have  at- 
tended your  meetings  since  you  have  held  them  in  the 
timber.  I  believe  there  is  something  in  your  religion; 
I  believe  in  God." 

His  voice  was  faint. 

"Is  there  any  hope  for  me?"  he  asked,  searching  her 
face  with  his  keen  black  eyes. 

She  shrank  from  his  bold  gaze,  then  answered  gently : 

"There  is  hope  for  every  one  who  repents  of  his  sins 
and  turns  to  Christ." 

"But,"  he  said,  impatiently,  "I  haven't  done  so  very 
much  to  repent  of.  I  haven't  committed  any  crime, 
don't  you  know?  The  world  doesn't  hold  such  high 
ideals  of  what  a  fellow  ought  to  be  as  you  do.  I  am  no 
better  nor  worse  than  the  rest  of  men.  I  came  to  that 
conclusion  long  ago." 

"Indeed!"  She  spoke  coldly.  "Is  that  all?  Then 
you  do  not  need  me."  She  rose  to  go. 

1 '  No,  it  is  not  all ! "  interrupted  Jack  Harding.  ' l  Miss 
Bright,  show  him  his  sin;  show  him  the  way  of  repent- 
ance, as  you  did  me. ' ' 

Suddenly  the  cowboy  knelt  by  the  bunk,  and  poured 
forth  such  a  heartfelt  prayer  for  the  man  before  him, 
all  were  touched.  Clifton  lay  with  eyes  closed.  Esther 
spoke  again. 

"Mr.  Clifton,  have  you  done  nothing  to  repent  of? 
Think.  You  lured  to  this  country  the  sixteen-year-old 
orphan  daughter  of  a  clergyman.  You  promised  to 
marry  her,  if  she  would  join  you  here.  You  placed  her 


264  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

to  board  in  a  saloon.  You  refused  to  marry  her !  Thank 
God,  the  child  is  safe  at  last ! ' ' 

There  was  no  mistaking  her  tone. 

1 1  Marry  her  ?"  he  repeated,  contemptuously.  '  *  Marry 
her?  I'd  as  soon  marry  a  cat.  I  think  too  much  of  my 
family.  I  wouldn't  disgrace  them  by  marrying  her,  the 
daughter  of  a  poverty-stricken  curate." 

Then  they  saw  Esther  Bright 's  eyes  flash.  Her  face 
grew  as  stern  as  the  granite  hills  of  her  native  state. 
She  spoke  slowly,  and  each  word — as  Dr.  Mishell  after- 
wards said — seemed  to  weigh  a  ton  apiece. 

"Your  family?"  she  said.  "Your  family?"  she  re- 
peated with  scorn.  "Your  family?  This  girl  is  a  child 
of  God!" 

And  turning,  she  left  the  shack. 

Jack  Harding  remained  all  through  the  night,  talking 
and  praying,  at  intervals,  with  Clifton. 

At  dawn,  the  sick  man  cried  out  again  and  again : 

"God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner!" 

Then,  at  last,  he  said: 

"Jack,  I  want  to  atone  for  my  wrong  to  Miss  Earle 
as  much  as  I  can.  I  see  it  all  now.  Send  for  a  clergy- 
man. I  can't  live,  I  know.  If  Miss  Earle  becomes  my 
wife,  it  will  remove  the  stigma,  and  she  will  inherit  a 
fortune  willed  to  me.  Send  for  her.  Perhaps  she  will 
forgive  me,  before  I  die. ' ' 

At  the  sunset  hour,  word  passed  throughout  the 
village  that  Mark  Clifton  had  just  died,  and  that  before 
his  death  he  had  been  married  to  Carla  Earle.  The 
clergyman  who  attended  the  dying  man  wrote  to  his 
parents,  telling  them  of  their  son's  marriage  and  death, 
and  of  his  farewell  messages  to  them.  He  added: 

"Your  son  died  a  repentant  man." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  GREATEST  OF  THESE  IS  LOVE 

ON  her  return  from  Murphy  Ranch,  Esther 
began  to  assist  in  the  care  of  Kenneth  Has- 
tings. As  yet,  he  had  not  recognized  her. 
Sometimes,  as  she  sat  by  him,  tears  would 
gather  and  roll  down  her  cheeks.  One  day, 
Kenneth  opened  his  eyes  and  asked: 

"Who  are  you?    What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"I  am  Esther,"  she  answered,  "taking  care  of  you." 

"No,  you're  not,"  he  said,  wildly.  "Get  out  of 
here!" 

She  stepped  back  where  he  could  not  see  her.  He 
rambled  on. 

"Some  one  shot!"  He  tried  to  rise.  But  Sister 
Mercy,  entering,  quieted  him,  and  he  lay  back,  mutter- 
ing. Occasionally,  Esther  caught  the  words  "Esther," 
"gulf,"  "doubt."  About  an  hour  later,  he  awakened, 
quiet.  She  sat  where  she  could  watch  his  face,  and  learn 
her  great  lesson. 

"Are  you  an  angel?"  he  asked,  with  unrecognizing 
eyes. 

She  took  one  of  his  hands  in  hers,  and  rested  her 
cheek  against  it.  His  hand  grew  wet  with  her  tears. 

* '  Are  you  a  soul  in  bliss  ? "  he  asked,  softly.  ' '  I  knew 
an  angel  when  I  was  on  earth.  But  a  gulf  yawned  be- 
tween us,  a  gulf,  a  gulf!" 

Then  he  seemed  oblivious  of  the  presence  of  anyone, 
and  muttered: 

265 


266  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"I  have  lost  my  way — lost  my  way, — lost." 

At  last  he  slept  again.  And  Esther  Bright,  kneeling 
by  his  bedside,  with  one  of  his  hands  clasped  in  hers, 
prayed.  Still  he  slept  on.  When  he  awakened,  John 
Clayton  stood  looking  down  upon  him.  Kenneth  looked 
around,  puzzled. 

" Well,  John!    Where  am  I?" 

"Here  in  my  home.  Are  you  feeling  better,  Ken- 
neth t" 

"Better?    What  do  you  mean?" 

"You've  been  very  sick,  and  delirious.  But  now 
you'll  recover." 

"What  was  the  matter?" 

"An  Indian  blackguard  shot  you  through  the  shoulder. 
Septic  conditions  set  in,  and  you  had  a  high  fever. 
Keep  still  there,"  he  said,  as  he  prevented  his  friend 
from  moving. 

"Queer,  John,"  said  Kenneth,  after  a  moment's  pause. 
"I  can't  recall  anything  that  has  happened  recently  but 
a  drive  with  Miss  Bright  just  before  she  went  away. 
But  I  can't  speak  of  that—" 

And  Esther  Bright,  resting  on  the  couch  in  the  living 
room,  heard  every  word.  A  long  silence  followed. 

"John,"  said  Kenneth  in  a  low  voice,  "tell  her  some- 
time for  me,  that  I  have  lived  a  clean,  honorable  life. 
You  know  I  have  gone  to  the  saloons  here  sometimes, 
largely  because  other  human  beings  were  there.  You 
know  I  gambled  a  little  to  kill  time.  So  deucedly  lonely ! 
Tell  her  I  wasn't  bad  at  heart." 

He  started  to  say  more,  but  suddenly  stopped.  And 
Esther,  hearing  in  spite  of  herself,  searched  her  own 
heart. 

Dr.  Mishell  came  the  next  day,  and  finding  his  pa- 
tient delirious  again,  announced  that  he  would  stay  with 


THE  GREATEST  OF  THESE  IS  LOVE  267 

him  till  danger  was  past.  So  the  physician  and  nurse 
again  watched  together. 

It  was  the  day  Esther  was  to  have  left  for  Massachu- 
setts. When  questioned  as  to  the  time  of  her  departure, 
she  now  assured  everyone  she  would  stay  till  her  sick 
people  were  well. 

While  Dr.  Mishell  sat  by  Kenneth,  Mr.  Clayton  found 
Esther  on  the  veranda,  in  tears.  He  pretended  not  to 
see. 

"Does  Dr.  Mishell  give  any  hope  of  Mr.  Hastings' 
recovery?"  she  asked. 

' '  Yes.  There  has  been  a  decided  change  for  the  better 
this  past  hour." 

He  slipped  his  hand  under  her  arm,  and,  together, 
they  walked  up  and  down  the  path  to  the  road. 

"My  dear  friend,"  he  said  to  her,  "Kenneth  may 
die,  but  I  know  a  powerful  restorative,  that  might  help 
to  save  his  life,  if  we  could  only  bring  it  to  him."  He 
knew  her  heart  better  than  Kenneth  did. 

"Oh,  let  me  take  it  to  him,"  she  said  eagerly.  "I'd 
be  so  thankful  to  have  a  chance  to  help  save  his  life. 
He's  done  so  much  for  me,  and  he  is  such  a  loyal — 
friend." 

"You  shall  be  the  one  to  bring  him  the  medicine  if 
you  will,"  he  said  smiling. 

"What  is  it?  Where  can  I  get  it?"  she  asked,  eager 
to  go  on  her  errand  of  mercy. 

"Where  can  you  get  it?"  he  repeated.  "You  can 
find  it  in  your  own  heart.  It  is  love  that  will  save  Ken- 
neth, dear  Miss  Bright." 

Her  tears  fell  fast. 

"I  fear  I  have  made  him  very  unhappy,"  she  said. 

"I  suspect  you  have,"  he  responded. 

"Did  he  tell  you  so?" 


268  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"No.  You  know  he  has  been  delirious  from  the  first. 
In  his  delirium,  he  has  talked  of  you  constantly. ' ' 

At  last  danger  was  past,  and  nurse  and  physician 
assured  the  Clayton  household  that  Kenneth  Hastings 
would  recover. 

He  awakened  from  sleep,  alone.  As  he  opened  his 
eyes,  they  fell  upon  a  copy  of  Tennyson 's  works.  It  was 
open  at  "The  Princess."  Someone  had  been  reading, 
and  marking  passages.  He  at  once  turned  to  the  title 
page,  and  at  the  top,  read  a  name  he  half  expected  to  see. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  she  was  still  there  ?  He  looked 
around  the  room.  By  his  bedside,  stood  a  small  round 
table,  on  which  stood  a  low  glass  dish,  filled  with  pink 
cactus  blossoms.  Near  by,  was  an  open  Bible.  Here, 
too,  was  a  marked  passage, — "faith,  hope,  love,  these 
three ;  but  the  greatest  of  these  is  love. ' '  He  knew  the 
Bible  was  Esther's.  He  laid  it  down,  as  though  he  had 
trespassed  upon  her  innermost  heart.  He  closed  his 
eyes,  and  lay  in  a  half-dream  of  possible  joy.  Over  and 
over,  the  words  seemed  to  repeat  themselves, — "the 
greatest  of  these  is  love."  There  was  a  quiet  step,  and 
Esther  entered,  looking  fresh  and  cool  in  a  white  dimity 
gown.  In  her  hands,  was  a  bunch  of  cactus  flowers.  She 
laid  them  down,  and  with  a  joyous  cry  went  to  him, 
clasping  his  hand  in  hers. 

' ' You  know  me  at  last ? ' '  she  asked.     "I  am  so  glad ! ' ' 

Kenneth  did  not  speak.  She  continued,  "I  feared 
you  would  never  know  me  again. ' '  She  seemed  to  hesi- 
tate a  moment,  but  went  on.  "I  feared  I  could  never 
tell  you  what  I  now  know,  what  I  want  to  tell  you." 

"What  do  you  know?"  he  asked.  "What  do  you 
wish  to  tell  me?" 

"That  I  love  you,"  she  answered,  and  stooping  down, 
she  put  her  cheek  against  his. 


THE  GREATEST  OF  THESE  IS  LOVE  269 

"Look  out,  Kenneth!"  she  said,  warningly,  with  a 
happy  little  laugh.  "You  mustn't  forget  about  the 
wound  in  your  shoulder." 

But  he  held  her  captive. 

' '  What  do  I  care  for  the  wound  in  my  shoulder,  when 
the  wound  in  my  heart  is  healed?"  he  asked  of  her. 

"I  came  to  heal  the  wound  I  made  in  your  heart," 
she  said,  while  a  pink  wave  swept  over  her  face. 

Still  he  held  her,  drawing  her  closer  to  him. 

"The  lips,"  he  said,  "on  the  lips,  as  a  penance." 

"My  penance  is  easy,"  she  said  with  a  happy  ring 
in  her  voice. 

Then  drawing  a  chair  close  to  the  side  of  his  hed,  she 
let  him  gather  her  hands  in  his. 

"Strange!"  he  said.  "During  my  illness  I  dreamed 
it  would  be  this  way.  I  must  have  dreamed  a  long  time. 
You  were  always  with  me,  I  thought.  You  were  always 
in  white,  and  often  brought  me  flowers.  Once,  I  found 
myself  in  heaven.  You  met  me,  and  smiled  and  said, 
1  Come. '  You  brought  me  the  most  heavenly  being  I 
ever  beheld,  and  placing  my  hand  in  his,  said  signifi- 
cantly, '  He  loved  much ! '  Then  you  vanished.  And  the 
heavenly  being  smiled  upon  me.  And  my  heart  grew 
glad.  I  began  to  understand  the  mysteries  of  life. 
Then  I  thought  how  you  had  led  me  to  the  very  foun- 
tain of  love,  that  I  might  know  how  to  love  you  purely. 
I  began  to  feel  I  could  renounce  all  my  hopes  of  your 
love,  because  there  was  something  in  that  other  pres- 
ence that  taught  me  that  great  Love  asks  no  return. 
It  just  loves  on,  and  on.  Then  I  thought  this  heavenly 
being  called  me  brother.  And  thousands  of  voices  began 
to  sing,  '  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest ! '  : 

"Beautiful!"  she  said. 

"Then  I  seemed  to  float  in  space,  and  I  knew  that  you 


270  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

were  near  me.  Your  arms  were  full  of  flowers,  and  you 
offered  up  silent  prayers  for  me  that  bridged  the  gulf 
between  us." 

She  kissed  him  again,  saying  softly: 

"Beloved,  I  did  bridge  the  gulf  with  prayers.  How 
stupid  I  was  not  to  know  sooner!" 

"Not  to  know  what?" 

1 '  Not  to  know  love  when  it  came. ' ' 

"But  you  know  it  now,  Beloved?"  he  said,  drawing 
the  hands  he  clasped  nearer  to  himself.  "I  thank  God 
for  that." 

He  closed  his  eyes,  and  lay  very  still,  still  clasping  her 
hands.  She  watched  by  him.  At  last,  his  hands  re- 
laxed their  hold,  and  she  knew  by  his  regular  breathing 
that  he  was  asleep. 

John  Clayton  came  to  the  door,  saw  how  it  was,  and 
went  away.  So  did  the  others  who  came  to  inquire. 
And  Kenneth  slept  on,  a  restful,  restoring  sleep.  And 
as  Esther  watched,  she  repeated  to  herself: 

"The  Greatest  of  These  is  Love." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

AT  SUNSET 

IT  was  Dr.  Mishell  speaking 
''My  dear  young  lady,  if  Mr.  Hastings  must  go 
to  England,  as  he  says  he  must,  he  should  not  go 
alone.     He  needs  care.     I  have  recommended  you 
as  a  competent  nurse."     His  eyes  twinkled. 

"Is  it  safe  for  him  to  travel  now?"  asked  Esther. 

"If  he  makes  the  journey  by  slow  stages." 

The  physician  spoke  with  some  hesitation. 

"At  any  rate  he  should  get  out  of  this  intense  heat 
as  soon  as  possible. ' ' 

"But  the  ocean  voyage,"  she  suggested. 

"Probably  do  him  good." 

The  physician  had  already  extended  his  congratula- 
tions to  them.  Before  leaving,  he  gripped  Kenneth's 
hand,  and  said  heartily: 

"My  nurse  will  be  a  helpmate  to  you.  She  is  a  wo- 
man of  sense." 

"While  he  still  gripped  Kenneth's  hand,  he  turned  to 
Esther,  and  extended  his  other  hand  to  her.  He  placed 
her  hand  in  Kenneth's,  and  said  impressively: 

"  'What  God  hath  joined  together,  let  not  man  put 
asunder.'  Miss  Bright,  you  are  to  marry  a  true  man. 
Always  trust  him." 

His  eyes  filled.     He  turned  abruptly  and  was  gone. 

Poor  Dr.  Mishell ! 

The  wilting  heat  of  August  was  upon  them. 

At   evening,    Esther,   wearied   with   packing   trunks, 

271 


272  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

joined  Kenneth  on  the  veranda.  As  she  sat  there, 
Wathemah  ran  to  her,  and  flung  a  bunch  of  flowers  in 
her  lap. 

"Why  do  you  leave  me?"  he  asked. 

She  put  her  arm  about  him,  and  told  him  she  was 
going  home,  a  long,  long  way  from  there,  and  that  Mr. 
Hastings  was  going  with  her. 

"Wathemah  go,  too?"  he  asked. 

Both  laughed. 

"No,  little  chap,"  she  said,  drawing  him  closer  to 
her,  "not  this  time." 

"Wathemah  go,  too,"  he  said,  reproachfully,  looking 
at  Kenneth  with  marked  disapproval. 

"Do  you  love  your  teacher?"  asked  Kenneth.  He, 
too,  liked  the  child. 

Wathemah  nodded. 

"Would  you  like  to  be  her  boy,  and  live  with  her 
always  ? ' ' 

Wathemah  placed  one  arm  about  his  teacher's  neck, 
and  said  softly: 

" Wathemah 's  mother!" 

Kenneth  laughed  again,  and  declared  he  was  jealous. 

Then  Esther  told  the  little  fellow  she  would  come  back 
to  Gila  and  get  him,  and  he  should  then  go  to  live  with 
her  always. 

"Take  me  now,"  he  urged. 

' '  No,  dear, ' '  she  said. 

With  that,  he  sprang  from  her,  and  walked  proudly 
out  of  the  yard,  on  toward  the  canyon,  without  turn- 
ing, or  looking  back. 

"A  nugget  of  gold  from  the  Rockies,"  said  Kenneth, 
looking  after  him. 

"An  Arizona  cactus,"  she  replied,  "lovely,  but  hard 
to  handle," 


AT  SUNSET  273 

Wathemah  trudged  up  the  canyon,  to  his  favorite 
bowlder,  where  he  went,  often,  to  listen  to  the  waters. 
There,  he  threw  himself  down,  and  cried  himself  to 
sleep.  He  had  slept  a  half-hour,  perhaps,  when  he  was 
awakened  by  voices. 

"Why,  here's  Wathemah,"  called  out  Jack  Harding. 

Another  spoke, 

"He's  a  queer  un.     He  never  will  be  civilized." 

The  group  of  cowboys  gathered  about  the  child. 

"What's  the  matter,  sonny?"  asked  his  friend,  Jack 
Harding. 

Then  he  told  them  of  his  teacher's  refusal  to  take  him 
with  her. 

' '  Don 't  cry,  little  kid ! "  said  Jack.  ' '  Here,  boys,  let 's 
give  him  money  ter  go  home  with  Miss  Bright.  I'll 
jest  ask  her  ter  take  him  along  with  her,  an'  I'll  pay 
fur  his  keep.  Don't  cry,  sonny.  It's  all  right.  Down 
in  y'r  pockets,  pards,  an'  fork  out  some  money  fur 
Wathemah.  We  saved  him,  an '  raised  him,  yer  know. ' ' 

His  own  hand  went  down  into  his  pockets,  and  into 
his  hat  went  a  roll  of  bills.  He  passed  his  hat,  and  soon 
it  was  full  of  bills  and  silver  dollars. 

That  evening,  it  began  to  be  whispered  about  that 
Wathemah  was  to  go  with  Miss  Bright.  But  of  this 
rumor  she  knew  nothing. 

Two  days  later,  the  hands  of  young  men  and  maidens 
were  busy  decorating  the  Clayton  home  for  the  wedding 
of  Esther  Bright  and  Kenneth  Hastings.  Cactus  blos- 
soms of  exquisite  form  and  color  were  used.  Not  only 
the  interior  of  the  house,  but  the  veranda  and  yard  as 
well,  were  one  glorious  mass  of  color. 

Jack  Harding  worked  faithfully,  stopping  now  and 
then  to  talk  with  Kenenth,  who  lay  on  a  couch  on  the 
veranda. 


274  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

Carla,  too,  was  busy,  putting  artistic  touches  here 
and  there.  She,  too,  came  often  to  the  sick  man's  side. 

But  Esther  was  forbidden  to  work,  and  when  she 
persisted,  Mr.  Clayton  captured  her  and  took  her  off 
for  a  ride.  She  was  to  be  married  at  sunset. 

While  they  were  out  driving,  one  of  John  Clayton's 
cowboys  drove  up  from  the  station,  bringing  David 
Bright  and  an  English  clergyman,  a  friend  of  Ken- 
neth's, with  him. 

When  Esther  returned,  and  found  her  grandfather, 
her  joy  knew  no  bounds. 

"I  wish  now,  Kenneth,  that  we  were  to  marry  our- 
selves, as  Friends  do,"  she  said,  "but  grandfather  can 
give  me  away." 

The  guests  who  had  been  bidden,  gathered  in  the  yard, 
just  as  the  glory  of  the  sunset  began.  There  was  Bobbie, 
with  the  Carmichaels;  there  were  some  of  the  cowboys 
and  cowlasses,  miners  and  ranchers  who  had  at- 
tended the  meetings;  all  the  Clayton  household;  Dr. 
Mishell  and  Sister  Mercy,  Miss  Gale,  and  Wathemah 
were  there.  Jack  Harding  kept  a  close  watch  on  Wathe- 
mah, not  knowing  just  what  he  might  do. 

As  the  sun  neared  the  horizon,  the  clergyman  took 
his  place  in  the  yard,  Kenneth  stepped  forward,  and 
waited.  Esther  Bright,  in  a  sheer  white  gown,  freshly 
laundered, — a  gown  she  had  worn  many  times  as  she  had 
ministered  to  the  sick,  came  forward  on  the  arm  of  her 
stately  old  grandfather,  who  gave  her  away.  His  benign 
face  seemed  to  hallow  the  hour. 

The  colors  in  the  sky  seemed  to  vie  with  the  cactus 
blossoms.  Yellows,  and  violets,  and  deep  crimson,  faint 
clouds  with  golden  edges,  violet,  then  rose-colored,  all 
melting  into  the  dome  of  the  sky. 

The  man  and  the  woman  were  repeating  the  marriage 


AT  SUNSET  275 

ritual  of  the  Church  of  England,  while  this  miracle  of 
beauty  flashed  through  the  heavens. 

The  plaintive  cry  of  the  mourning  dove  rang  out,  fol- 
lowed by  the  cheerful  piping  of  a  cardinal. 

The  human  voices  went  on  with  the  solemnest  vows 
man  and  woman  may  speak. 

The  exquisite  notes  of  the  cardinal,  then  of  a  thrush, 
accompanied  their  voices.  The  beauty  of  the  dying  day 
played  over  Esther  Bright  and  Kenneth  Hastings,  as 
they  stood  in  the  glory  of  their  youth,  and  of  their  love. 

Just  as  the  clergyman  pronounced  the  closing  words 
of  the  marriage  service,  the  heavens  leaped  into  a  splen- 
dor of  color;  a  mocking  bird  caught  up  all  the  songs 
that  had  furnished  an  obligato  to  the  marriage  service; 
and,  as  if  to  outdo  all  the  other  feathered  songsters, 
burst  into  a  perfect  ecstasy  of  song. 

In  the  midst  of  the  congratulations  and  feasting, 
Wathemah  kept  close  to  Esther's  side. 

The  following  day,  Kenneth,  Esther  and  David  Bright 
were  to  begin  their  long  journey  eastward.  The  day 
dawned.  All  Gila  gathered  at  the  distant  station  to 
bid  them  God  speed. 

''Where  is  Wathemah?"  Esther  asked. 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  a  miner.  "I  found  him 
cryin'  'cause  yer  wouldn't  take  him  with  yer." 

"Poor  little  chap!  But  where 's  Jack?"  she  ques- 
tioned. 

"There  they  be,"  said  a  ranchman,  pointing  to  Jack 
and  Wathemah,  standing  apart  from  the  crowd.  She 
stepped  toward  them. 

"I  have  come  to  say  good-by,"  she  said.  "You 
won't  forget,  Jack,  to  follow  the  Christ;  you  won't  for- 
get to  pray?" 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.    He  stood  battling 


276  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

with  himself.  Her  tender  voice,  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  almost  unmanned  him. 

"Is  it  not  much,  do  yer  think,  ter  let  yer  go,  as  have 
brought  me  ter  know  God,  as  have  learned  me  ter  live 
right,  an '  have  been  like  God 's  angel  ter  me  ?  God  help 
me!"  The  strong  man's  face  worked,  and  he  turned 
from  her.  After  a  moment,  he  put  his  hand  in  his 
pocket,  and  drew  forth  the  Bible  she  had  given  him. 

"I  wisht  I'd  a  knowed  about  this  when  I  was  a  lad. 
My  life'd  ben  differnt.  I  thank  yer  fur  all  yer've  done 
fur  me,  and  all  yer've  learned  me.  But  it  seems  I  can't 
let  yer  go.  God  help  me!" 

He  stood  with  head  bent  and  hands  clinched. 

At  last,  Esther  spoke  again: 

"Good-by,  John.  You  have  fought  a  good  fight,  and 
conquered.  Now,  help  the  others  with  all  your  might. ' ' 
Ah,  how  much  she  had  helped  him  in  his  battle! 

He  grasped  her  hand  and  held  it.  So  they  stood. 
Then  he  said: 

"Take  the  little  kid  with  yer.  Give  him  a  chance. 
I'll  send  him  money  as  long  as  I  live.  I  ain't  got  no- 
body else  ter  care  fur." 

She  would  help  the  strong  man,  now,  if  she  could ;  but 
how  could  she?  He  had  this  battle  to  fight  alone. 

' '  You  wish  me  to  take  Wathemah,  John  ? ' ' 

"Yes.     Give  him  a  chance, — differnt  surroundings." 

He  lifted  a  bag  of  money. 

"This  'ere  holds  nearly  one  hunderd  dollars.  The 
boys  give  it  to  "Wathemah  ter  go  home  with  yer. ' ' 

' '  Did  they  ?     How  generous ! ' ' 

The  child  ran  to  her,  fearful  he  should  be  left  behind. 
She  hesitated.  How  could  she  care  for  her  convales- 
cent husband,  and  this  impetuous,  high-strung  child? 
She  turned  to  Kenneth  and  spoke  with  him. 


AT  SUNSET  277 

Jack  lifted  Wathemah  in  his  arms  and  kissed  him, 
saying : 

"Good-by,  little  pard.     Mind  now,  no  more  cussinV 

David  Bright,  who  had  overheard  the  conversation, 
now  stepped  forward,  and  said,  "Let  the  child  go  with 
us,  Esther,  if  those  who  have  reared  him  consent/' 

Both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Keith,  who  stood  near  him,  signi- 
fied their  willingness.  The  party  then  entered  the 
Pullman,  and  a  few  minutes  later,  the  train  drew  out 
from  the  station. 

Esther  and  Wathemah  went  to  the  rear  platform,  and 
watched  till  a  turn  in  the  road  hid  their  friends  from 
their  sight.  After  a  time  Kenneth  joined  them. 

"Tears,  Esther?"  he  said,  lifting  her  face. 

' '  But  not  of  sorrow, ' '  she  returned. 

He  put  an  arm  around  each,  and  they  stood  looking 
down  upon  the  majesty  of  the  scene  through  which  they 
were  passing. 

One  looking  back  to  that  moment,  would  say  it  had 
been  prophetic  of  the  future.  The  man  of  power,  des- 
tined to  become  a  determining  factor  in  the  development 
of  the  great  Southwest;  the  woman  at  his  side,  great 
of  heart  and  brain  and  soul;  and  this  little  prince  of 
the  Rockies,  with  his  splendid  heritage  of  courage, 
destined  to  be  the  educational  leader  of  his  race.  And  it 
was  this  woman  of  vision,  who,  during  the  years  that 
were  to  come,  saw  clearly  the  great  work  her  husband 
and  foster  son  might  do,  and  nerved  them  for  it  by  her 
faith  in  the  work,  and  their  power  to  do  it. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

AFTERMATH 

IT  was  a  substantial  stone  house,  built  against  the 
mountainside,  overlooking  a  picturesque  canyon. 
A  woman  sat  on  the  broad  veranda.  Occasionally, 
she  turned  her  head,  and  looked  down  the  moun- 
tain road,  listening  as  though  expecting  some  one. 
Then  she  walked  down  the  path,  and  stood  watching. 
A  little  five-year-old  girl  joined  her,  flitting  about  like 
a  sprite. 

"Will  father  come  soon,  mother?"  she  asked. 

"I  hope  so,  Edith.  He  said  he  would  come  to-day." 
There  was  a  far-away  look  in  the  mother's  eyes. 

"Why  doesn't  father  come?"  the  child  continued. 

"Oh,  he  has  been  a  long  way,  and  has  traveled  many 
days,  dear.  Something  may  have  happened  to  detain 
him." 

"What  could  have  happened,  mother?"  the  little  one 
asked. 

' '  Oh,  business,  or  the  rails  might  have  spread,  or  there 
might  have  been  a  washout,  or  a  landslide. ' ' 

The  mother  again  looked  down  the  road.  Then  she 
walked  slowly  back  to  the  veranda  and  took  up  her  sew- 
ing. The  child  leaned  against  her  knee. 

"Mother,  when  you  were  a  little  girl,  did  you  have 
any  little  girls  to  play  with?" 

"No.     I  had  just  my  dear  grandfather." 

"Then  you  know  how  lonely  I  am,  mother.  It's 
pretty  hard  to  be  a  little  girl  and  all  alone. ' ' 

278 


AFTERMATH  279 

''Do  you  think  you  are  alone,  little  daughter,  when 
you  have  father,  and  aunt  Carla,  and  mother  ? ' ' 

"But  you  are  big,  mother,  don't  you  see?  When  a 
little  girl  hasn't  any  other  little  boys  and  girls  to  play 
with,  the  world's  a  pretty  lonesome  place." 

The  mother  sighed. 

The  child  rested  her  chin  in  her  dainty  hands,  and 
looked  up  through  her  long  lashes  into  her  mother's 
eyes. 

' '  I  have  been  thinking,  mother. ' ' 

The  child  was  given  to  confidences,  especially  with  her 
father. 

"What  did  you  think,  Edith?"  The  mother  smiled 
encouragingly. 

"I  thought  I'd  pray  for  a  brother." 

A  tear  trembled  on  the  mother's  cheek. 

"A  little  brother?"     The  mother  looked  far  away. 

"Oh,  a  b-i-g  brother!"  said  the  child,  stretching  her 
arms  by  way  of  illustration. 

"What  would  you  say,  sweetheart,  if  a  big  brother 
should  come  to-day?" 

The  little  one  clapped  her  hands. 

"A  really,  truly,  big  brother?"  she  asked,  dancing 
about  in  glee. 

"A  really,  truly,  big  brother, — Wathemah.  You  have 
never  seen  him,  and  he  has  never  seen  you,  since 
you  were  a  baby.  But  he  is  coming  home  soon,  you 
know. ' ' 

"Will  he  play  with  me?"  she  asked.  "You  and 
Aunt  Carla  just  'nopolize  father  and  the  big  ladies  and 
gentlemen  when  they  come.  But  sometimes  father  plays 
with  me,  doesn't  he,  mother?" 

"Yes,  sometimes.     He  loves  his  little  daughter." 

"I   don't  know."     She   shook   her  head  doubtfully. 


280  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"I  heard  father  say  he  loved  you  bestest  of  ev'rybody 
in  a  world. ' ' 

She  threw  up  her  arms  and  gave  a  little  jump. 

' '  Oh,  I  wish  I  had  some  one  to  play  with ! ' ' 

' 'Let's  go  watch  for  father  again,"  said  the  mother, 
rising. 

This  time  they  were  not  disappointed.  They  heard 
the  sound  of  wheels;  then  they  saw  the  father.  The 
little  daughter  ran  like  the  wind  down  the  road.  The 
father  stopped  the  horses,  gave  the  reins  to  the  driver, 
and  stepped  to  the  ground.  In  an  instant  the  little 
sprite  was  in  his  arms,  hugging  him  about  the  neek, 
while  her  ripples  of  laughter  filled  the  air.  The  wife 
approached,  and  was  folded  in  the  man's  embrace. 

' '  Father, ' '  said  the  child,  "  I  am  to  have  a  big  brother, 
mother  says." 

''You  are?"     Great  astonishment. 

The  parents  smiled. 

"An',  father," — here  she  coquetted  with  him — "you 
and  mother  are  not  to  'nopolize  him  when  he  comes. 
He's  going  to  play  with  me,  isn't  he,  mother?" 

' '  I  think  so. "    A  grave  smile. 

The  child  was  given  to  saying  her  father  "un'er- 
stood." 

"When  did  you  hear  from  Wathemah,  Esther?"  the 
father  asked. 

"About  ten  days  ago.  I'll  read  you  his  letter.  I 
shall  not  be  surprised  to  see  him  any  day,  now. ' ' 

"Wathemah  is  my  big  brother,  Father.  Mother  said 
so.  She  says  he's  always  been  my  big  brother,  only  / 
didn't  re'lize  it,  you  know." 

The  parents  looked  amused. 

"Yes,  Edith,  he  is  your  brother,  and  a  dear  brother, 
too,"  said  the  father. 

When  they  were  seated  on  the  veranda,  and  the  child 


AFTERMATH  281 

was  perched  on  her  father's  knee,  Esther  brought  Wathe- 
mah's  last  letter,  and  read  it  aloud  to  her  husband. 
"Dear  Mother  Esther: 

' i  This  is  probably  the  last  letter  I  shall  write  you  from 
Harvard  for  some  time.  As  soon  as  Commencement  is 
over,  I  shall  go  to  Carlisle  again  for  a  brief  visit,  and 
then  start  for  Arizona,  to  Father  Kenneth  and  you,  my 
dear  Mother  Esther,  and  my  little  sister  and  Carla  and 
Jack.  Now  that  the  time  approaches  for  me  to  return 
to  you,  I  can  hardly  wait. 

"I  may  have  expressed  my  gratitude  to  you  and 
Father  Kenneth  in  different  ways  before,  but  I  wish 
to  do  so  again  now. 

"I  am  deeply  indebted  to  him  for  his  generosity,  and 
for  his  fatherly  interest  and  counsel.  But  it  is  to  you, 
my  beloved  teacher,  I  owe  most  of  all.  All  that  I  am 
or  ever  may  be,  I  owe  entirely  to  you.  You  found  me 
a  little  savage,  you  loved  me  and  believed  in  me,  and 
made  it  possible  for  me  to  become  a  useful  man.  As  I 
have  grown  older,  I  have  often  wondered  at  your  patience 
with  me,  and  your  devotion  to  the  interests  of  the 
Indian.  You  have  done  great  things  already  for  him, 
and  I  am  confident  that  you  will  do  much  more  to  bring 
about  a  true  appreciation  of  him,  his  character  and 
his  needs.  The  Indian  in  transition  is  a  problem.  You 
know  more  about  that  problem  than  almost  anyone 
else. 

' '  I  never  told  you  about  my  birthday,  did  I  ?  Do  you 
know  the  day  I  count  my  years  by?  My  first  day,  and 
your  first  day  at  the  Gila  school.  Then  my  real  birth 
took  place,  for  I  began  to  be  a  living  soul. 

"So,  in  a  spiritual  sense,  you  are  my  real  mother. 
I  have  often  wondered  if  the  poor  creature  who  bore 
me  is  still  living,  and  living  in  savagery.  All  a  son's 
affection  I  have  given  to  you,  my  beloved  foster  mother. 


282  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

It  is  now  nearly  sixteen  years  since  you  found  me  a 
little  savage.  I  must  have  been  about  six  years  of  age, 
then;  so,  on  the  next  anniversary  of  your  first  day  in 
the  Gila  school,  I  shall  be  twenty-two  years  old.  From 
that  day  till  now,  you  have  been  the  dearest  object  in 
the  world  to  me.  I  am  sure  no  mother  could  be  more 
devotedly  loved  by  her  son  than  you  are  loved  by 
me.  I  strive  to  find  words  to  express  the  affection  in 
my  heart. 

"And  Grandfather  Bright!  How  tender  and  gentle 
he  always  was  to  me,  from  the  time  we  had  our  beautiful 
wedding  journey  until  his  death!  He  came  to  Carlisle 
to  see  me  as  he  might  have  gone  to  see  a  beloved  son. 
He  always  seemed  to  me  like  God,  when  I  was  a  little 
fellow.  And  as  I  grew  older,  he  became  to  me  the 
highest  ideal  of  Christian  manhood.  I  went  over  to 
Concord  Cemetery  not  long  ago,  and  stood  with  uncov- 
ered head  by  his  grave. 

' '  And  our  dear  little  David  Bright !  That  was  a  sore 
loss  for  you  and  Father  Kenneth. 

"You  don't  know  how  often  I  wish  to  see  little  Edith. 
I  was  greatly  disappointed  that  you  and  Father  Kenneth 
did  not  bring  her  with  you  the  last  time  you  came  to 
see  me.  You  didn't  realize  such  a  lean,  lanky,  brawny 
fellow  as  I  cared  so  much  to  see  a  little  girl,  did  you? 
I  had  always  wished  I  might  have  a  little  sister.  I  have 
shown  her  pictures  to  some  of  the  fellows  who  come  to 
my  room,  telling  them  she  is  my  baby  sister.  They 
chaff  me  and  say  I  do  not  look  much  like  her. 

' '  The  fellows  have  been  very  courteous  to  me. 

"Now  that  the  time  has  come  to  leave  Harvard  and 
Cambridge  and  Boston,  I  am  sorry  to  go.  I  have  met 
such  fine  people. 

"Dr. urges  me  to  return  in  the  fall,  to  continue 


AFTERMATH  283 

my  work  for  my  Master's  degree;  but  I  have  thought 
it  all  over,  and  believe  it  wiser,  for  the  present,  to  work 
among  my  people,  and  get  the  knowledge  I  seek  at  first 
hand.  After  that,  I'll  return  to  Harvard. 

' '  Long  ago,  your  words  gave  me  my  purpose  in  life, — 
to  prepare  myself  to  the  uttermost  for  the  uplift  of  my 
race. 

"Daily,  I  thank  you  in  my  heart,  for  the  years  I  had 
at  Carlisle.  But  most  of  all,  I  thank  you  for  yourself 
and  what  you  have  been  to  me. 

"I  must  not  close  without  telling  you  of  a  conversa- 
tion I  had  with  Col.  H—  -  of  Boston.  He  heard  your 
address  on  'The  Indian  in  Transition'  at  the  Mohonk 
Conference.  He  told  me  it  was  a  masterly  address,  and 
that  you  presented  the  Indian  question  with  a  clearness 
and  force  few  have  done.  He  told  me  that  what  you 
said  would  give  a  new  impulse  to  Indian  legislation. 
He  seemed  to  know  of  your  conferences  at  Washington, 
too. 

"I  hear  great  things  of  Father  Kenneth,  too;  his  in- 
creasing wealth,  his  power  for  leadership,  and  his  up- 
right dealings  with  men. 

"Do  you  remember  how  jealous  I  used  to  be  of  him 
when  I  was  a  little  chap  ?  Well,  I  am  jealous  no  longer. 
He  is  the  finest  man  I  know. 

"But  I  must  stop  writing.  This  letter  has  run  on 
into  an  old-fashioned  visit. 

"I  am  coaching  one  of  the  fellows  in  mathematics. 
Strange  work  for  a  savage ! 

"With  love  for  all  of  you,  including  my  dear  Carla, 
"Your  loving  boy, 

"WATHEMAH." 

"He's  a  fine  fellow,  is  Wathemah,"  said  Kenneth, 
as  he  cuddled  his  little  girl  up  in  his  arms. 


284  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

" Yes,  he's  developed  wonderfully,"  responded  Esther. 

"How's  Carla?"  the  husband  asked. 

"  Carla 's  well,  and  just  now  deeply  interested  in  the 
Y.  M.  and  Y.  W.  C.  A.  work. 

Here  Carla  herself  appeared,  and  joined  in  the  wel- 
come home.  She  was  the  picture  of  wholesome  content. 

While  they  were  talking,  there  was  a  sound  of  wheels 
again.  The  wagon  stopped,  a  young  man  jerked  out  a 
trunk,  paid  the  driver,  and  ran  towards  the  veranda. 
How  happy  he  seemed! 

"It's  Wathemah,"  all  cried,  hastening  to  meet  him. 
The  sprite  was  in  advance,  with  arms  outstretched. 

"I  guess  you  don't  reco'nize  me,"  she  said.  "I'm 
your  little  sister." 

He  laughed,  stooped  and  lifted  her  in  his  arms,  and 
kissed  her  several  times. 

Then  came  Esther's  turn.  At  the  same  time,  Kenneth 
enfolded  Wathemah.  Then  came  Carla,  whom  Wathe- 
mah kissed  as  he  used  to  do  in  childhood  days,  and  laugh- 
ingly repeated  a  question  he  was  accustomed  to  ask  her 
then — "Is  my  face  clean,  Carla?" 

And  all  laughed  and  talked  of  the  days  when  they  had 
found  one  another,  of  the  Claytons  and  Jack  Harding, 
and  Patrick  Murphy  and  his  family,  and  the  Bosses  and 
Carmichaels,  and  the  changes  that  had  taken  place  in 
Gila  since  they  left  there. 

' '  I  was  so  sorry  to  hear  of  Mr.  Clayton 's  death, ' '  said 
Wathemah.  ' '  What  a  great-hearted  man  he  was !  Such 
a  generous  friend!  Do  you  suppose  Mrs.  Clayton  and 
Edith  will  ever  come  back  to  America?" 

"No,"  answered  Kenneth,  "I  fear  not.  Mrs.  Clay- 
ton's kindred  are  in  England,  you  know.  She  never 
liked  America.  It  was  a  lonely  life  for  her  here,  and 
doubly  so  after  her  husband's  death." 


AFTERMATH  285 

"And  how's  Jack?  Dear  old  Jack!  I  must  see  him 
soon,"  said  Wathemah. 

"I'll  call  him  up,"  said  Kenneth,  going  to  the  phone. 

"Give  me  148,  please. " 

"No— 1-4-8." 

' '  Hello !     Is  Mr.  Harding  within  reach  ? ' ' 

"Gone  to  the  store,  you  say?  Send  some  one  for  him 
at  once,  please,  and  tell  him  Mr.  Hastings  wishes  to  talk 
with  him.  Important." 

He  hung  up  the  receiver  and  returned  to  his  place. 

"Do  you  know,  Father  Kenneth,  I  have  received  a 
letter  from  Jack  every  week  since  I  left  Gila,  except  the 
time  he  was  sick  ?  He  insisted  upon  sending  me  money, 
saying  that  it  was  he  who  found  me,  and  wanted  me  to 
live." 

"Yes,  Jack  is  a  generous  fellow,"  assented  Kenneth. 

"I  tried  to  make  him  understand  that  I  was  strong 
and  able  to  earn  my  own  way;  but  it  made  no  differ- 
ence. ' ' 

"Just  like  him!     Bless  him!"  said  Esther. 

"So  I  have  invested  his  money  for  him,  in  his  name, 
and  it  will  make  him  very  comfortable  some  day. ' ' 

Kenneth  smiled. 

"Jack  is  becoming  a  rich  man  by  his  own  work,  and 
his  own  wise  investments. ' ' 

Just  then  the  telephone  rang. 

"Hello!  Hello!  Is  that  you,  Jack?"  asked  Ken- 
neth. 

"That's  good. 

"Yes,  yes. 

"Something  interesting  is  up.  Whom  would  you  like 
to  see  at  this  moment? 

"Mother  Esther?     That's  good.    Who  next? 

"Wathemah?    Hold  the  phone  a  minute." 


286  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

He  turned  to  "Wathemah. 

"Jack  says  he'd  like  to  see  you.  He  doesn't  know 
you're  here.  Here!  Talk  to  him  yourself." 

So  Wathemah  stepped  to  the  phone. 

"Hello,  old  Jack!" 

There  was  a  happy  laugh. 

"You'll  be  over  to-morrow?" 

"What's  that  you  say?     Tour  boy?     Well,  I  guess!" 

"How  happy  Jack  will  be!"  said  Kenneth. 

"Your  little  pard?"  There  was  a  chuckle  from  the 
lithe,  muscular  young  Indian. 

"To  be  sure,  I'm  still  your  'pard,'  only  I'm  far  from 
little  now.  I'm  a  strapping  fellow." 

"What's  that?  You  feel  the  education  has  come  be- 
tween us?  No  more  o'  that,  old  fellow!  You're  one 
of  the  biggest-hearted  friends  man  ever  had!" 

' '  Tell  him  to  come  over  as  soon  as  he  can, ' '  interrupted 
Kenneth. 

"Father  Kenneth  says  'Come  over  as  soon  as  you 
can.'  " 

"You  will?  Good!  What  a  reunion  we'll  have! 
Good-by." 

He  hung  up  the  receiver,  and  the  conversation  drifted 
on. 

"Has  Jack  made  a  successful  overseer?"  questioned 
Wathemah. 

"Very.  He's  a  fine  fellow.  He  is  still  very  reli- 
gious, you  know,  and  the  men  respect  him.  He  has  be- 
come an  indefatigable  reader  and  student  of  labor  ques- 
tions. Eecently  I  heard  him  give  a  speech  that  sur- 
prised me.  He  grasps  his  subject,  and  has  a  direct  way 
of  putting  things." 

' '  I  should  expect  Jack  to  be  a  forceful  speaker, ' '  com- 
mented Wathemah,  "if  he  ever  overcame  his  diffidence 


AFTERMATH  287 

so  as  to  speak  at  all.  But  tell  me  about  the  school  at 
Gila.  That  little  spot  is  dear  to  me." 

"You  should  see  the  building  there  now,"  said  Es- 
ther. "Do  you  know  that  the  people  who  were  most 
lawless  when  we  were  there,  are  now  law-abiding  citi- 
zens? Gila  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  best  towns  in  Ari- 
zona. ' ' 

"That  seems  like  a  miracle, — your  miracle,  Mother 
Esther."  He  rose  from  his  chair  and  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment behind  her,  and  said  in  a  low  voice,  as  in  child- 
hood, "Me  mother,  me  teacher."  There  was  a  suspi- 
cious choke  in  his  voice,  and,  turning,  he  lifted  Edith, 
tossed  her  to  his  shoulder,  and  ran  with  her  down  toward 
the  road.  Kenneth  overtook  him,  and  as  they  strolled 
along,  they  talked  of  many  things,  but  chiefly  of  Es- 
ther, and  her  great  work  for  the  Indian. 

"How  did  it  all  come  about?"  asked  Wathemah. 

' '  Oh,  in  a  roundabout  way.  Her  magazine  articles  on 
the  Indian  first  drew  attention  to  her.  Then  her  ad- 
dress at  the  Mohonk  Conference  brought  her  into  fur- 
ther prominence.  She  was  asked  to  speak  before  the  In- 
dian Commission.  Later,  she  was  sent  by  the  Govern- 
ment to  visit  Indian  schools,  and  report  their  condition. 
She  certainly  has  shown  marked  ability.  The  more  she 
is  asked  to  do,  the  more  she  seems  capable  of  doing." 

"A  wonderful  woman,  isn't  she?" 

"Yes.  Vital.  What  she  has  done  for  the  Indian,  she 
has  also  done  for  the  cause  of  general  education  in  Ari- 
zona. ' ' 

"I  fear  she  will  break  down  under  all  this,  Father 
Kenneth." 

"Never  fear.  Work  is  play  to  her.  She  thinks  rap- 
idly, speaks  simply,  and  finds  people  who  need  her  ab- 
sorbingly interesting." 


288  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

"Yes,  but  she  gives  herself  too  much  to  others,"  pro- 
tested the  Indian  youth. 

"Well,  we  must  let  her.  She  is  happier  so,"  re- 
sponded Kenneth. 

"What  about  your  own  work,  Father  Kenneth?  I 
have  heard  in  Massachusetts  that  you  are  a  great  force 
for  public  good  throughout  this  region.  But  tell  me  of 
the  mines." 

"I  invested  much  of  my  fortune  here,"  said  Kenneth, 
giving  a  broad  outward  sweep  of  his  arm.  "Some  of 
the  mines  are  paying  large  dividends.  My  fortune  has 
more  than  doubled.  But  Arizona  has  been  unfortunate 
in  being  infested  with  dishonest  promoters.  I  am  try- 
ing to  bring  about  legislation  that  will  protect  people 
from  this  wholesale  robbery." 

"I  suspect  you  enjoy  the  fight,"  laughed  the  youth. 

"It  has  created  bitter  enemies,"  said  Kenneth, 
gravely. 

So  talking,  they  again  sought  the  house,  and  found 
Esther  and  Carla  on  the  veranda.  The  latter  sat  where 
Wathemah  could  see  her  delicate  profile  as  she  bent  over 
some  sewing.  Quiet  happiness  and  content  had  trans- 
formed her  into  a  lovely  woman. 

"How  beautiful  you  are,  Carla!"  said  Wathemah,  ad- 
miringly. 

He  enjoyed  her  confusion. 

"Do  you  remember  the  day  I  played  truant,  Carla, 
and  you  found  me  in  the  canyon,  and  made  me  ashamed 
of  myself  ?" 

Did  she? 

He  did  not  notice  the  shadow  over  the  winsome  face. 

"Do  you  know,  Wathemah,"  said  Esther,  "Carla 
would  not  remain  at  college,  because  she  felt  I  needed 
her.  But  she  has  become  an  indefatigable  student." 


AFTERMATH  289 

Later,  Wathemah  discovered  for  himself  that  she  really 
had  become  a  fine  student.  One  day  he  asked  her  how 
she  came  to  study  Greek. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  hesitatingly,  "I  loved  Grecian  litera- 
ture, and  history,  and  art.  And  I  had  often  heard  that 
my  father  was  a  fine  Greek  scholar.  So  I  began  by  my- 
self. Then  I  had  Sister  Esther  help  me.  And  after 
that,  it  became  to  me  a  great  delight. ' ' 

They  were  a  merry  party  that  day.  All  were  in  fine 
spirits.  In  the  midst  of  their  talk  and  laughter,  the  tele- 
phone rang. 

' '  Some  one  for  you,  Esther, ' '  said  Kenneth,  returning 
to  the  veranda. 

On  her  return,  he  looked  up  questioningly. 

"The  superintendent  of  education  wishes  me  to  give 
an  address  before  the  teachers  at  Tucson  next  month," 
she  said,  quietly. 

"And  will  you  do  it?"  asked  Wathemah. 

"Do  it?"  echoed  Kenneth.  "Of  course  she'll  do  it! 
She  doesn't  know  how  to  say  'no.'  ' 

Esther  smiled  indulgently. 

"You  see,  "Wathemah,  the  needs  of  the  new  country 
are  great.  They  would  not  invite  me  to  lecture  so  fre- 
quently, if  they  had  enough  workers.  To  me,  the  oppor- 
tunity to  help  means  obligation  to  help." 

"Our  Mother  Esther  has  just  returned  from  a  confer- 
ence at  Washington,  and  another  in  Montana,"  said 
Kenneth,  ' '  and  here  she  is  going  off  again.  The  truth  is 
she  has  become  an  educational  and  moral  force  in  the 
Southwest." 

"We  are  glad  to  share  her  with  all  who  need  her," 
said  Carla,  simply. 

"Yes,  lad,"  added  Kenneth,  rising,  "we  are  glad  she 
has  the  power  to  help." 


290  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

The  next  morning,  they  were  awakened  early  by  John 
Harding,  calling  Wathemah  to  let  him  in.  Such  a  meet- 
ing as  that  was !  Jack  did  not  seem  to  know  how  to  be- 
have. The  little  unkempt  lad,  untutored,  and  undisci- 
plined, whom  he  had  known  and  loved,  was  gone ;  and  in 
his  place,  stood  a  lithe,  graceful,  really  elegant  young 
man.  Jack  stood  back  abashed.  His  Wathemah,  his 
little  Wathemah,  was  gone.  Something  got  in  his  throat. 
He  turned  aside,  and  brushed  his  hand  across  his  cheek. 
But  Wathemah  slipped  his  arm  around  his  neck,  and 
together  they  tramped  off  up  the  mountain  for  a  visit. 
Then  Jack  knew  that  his  boy  had  really  come  back  to 
him,  but  developed  and  disciplined  into  a  man  of  char- 
acter and  force. 

That  was  a  gala  day  for  Jack  Harding  and  the  Hast- 
ings household.  No  one  had  ever  seen  Jack  so  happy 
before. 

Late  that  afternoon  all  stood  on  the  veranda. 

' '  My  little  kid, ' '  said  Jack,  laying  his  hand  on  Wathe- 
mah 's  shoulder,  "  I  Ve  worked  fur  ye,  prayed  fur  ye,  all 
the  years.  And  now  you've  come,  now  you've  come," 
he  kept  saying,  over  and  over. 

1 '  Say,  Jack, ' '  said  Wathemah,  ' '  do  you  remember  the 
time  you  found  me  asleep  up  the  canyon,  and  took  up  a 
collection  to  send  me  East  with  Mother  Esther?" 

Jack  nodded. 

"Well,  that  money,  with  all  that  you  have  since  sent 
me,  has  been  invested  for  you.  And  now,  Jack,  my  dear 
old  pard,  that  money  has  made  you  a  little  fortune. 
You  need  work  no  more. ' ' 

Jack  choked.  He  tried  to  speak,  but  turned  his  face 
away.  Esther  slipped  her  arm  through  his,  and  told 
him  she  wanted  to  visit  with  him.  So  the  two  walked 
up  and  down  the  road  in  front  of  the  house,  talking. 


AFTERMATH  291 

' '  We  are  all  so  happy  over  Wathemah, ' '  she  said.  '  *  I 
know  you  must  be,  too.  He  is  really  your  boy,  for  you 
saved  him,  Jack." 

Then  Jack  Harding  poured  his  heart  out  to  her.  She 
understood  him,  all  his  struggles,  all  his  great  unselfish 
love  for  the  boy.  She  knew  the  pain  of  his  awakening, 
when  he  found  that  the  child  whom  he  had  loved,  whom 
he  had  toiled  for  all  these  years,  needed  him  no  more. 
It  was  pathetic  to  her. 

"But,  Jack  dear,"  she  was  saying,  "I  am  sure  Wathe- 
mah will  always  be  a  joy  to  you.  Only  wait.  My  heart 
tells  me  he  has  some  great  purpose.  He  will  tell  us  in 
time.  When  he  does,  you  will  want  to  help  him  carry 
out  his  plans,  won't  you?" 

Up  and  down  the  veranda,  walked  Kenneth  and  Wathe- 
mah. Kenneth's  hand  and  arm  rested  on  the  youth's 
shoulder. 

"Yes,  Wathemah,"  he  was  saying,  "little  David's 
death  was  a  great  sorrow  to  us.  He  was  shot  by  an  un- 
friendly Indian,  you  know." 

For  a  moment  his  face  darkened.  The  two  walked  on 
in  silence. 

"And  Mother  Esther?"  Wathemah  said  in  a  husky 
tone;  "how  can  she  still  give  her  life  for  the  uplift  of 
my  people?" 

"Oh,  you  know  as  well  as  I.  She  serves  a  great 
Master." 

They  talked  from  heart  to  heart,  as  father  and  son. 

At  last  all  the  household  gathered  on  the  veranda  to 
watch  the  afterglow  in  the  sky.  Esther  slipped  her  arm 
through  Wathemah 's,  and  they  stood  facing  the  west. 

"And  so  my  boy  is  to  enter  the  Indian  service,"  she 
said. 

"Yes,"  he  answered.     "You  know  I  majored  in  an- 


292  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  GILA 

thropology  and  education.  My  summers  among  various 
Indian  tribes  were  to  help  me  know  the  Indian.  My 
thesis  for  my  doctorate  is  to  be  on  '  The  Education  of  the 
Indian  in  the  United  States. '  When  I  have  my  material 
ready,  I'll  return  to  Harvard  and  remain  until  I  com- 
plete my  work  for  my  doctorate." 

"What  next,  Wathemah?"  There  was  a  thrill  in 
Esther's  voice. 

The  Indian  youth  squared  his  shoulders,  lifted  his 
head,  and  said,  as  though  making  a  solemn  covenant: 

' '  The  uplift  of  my  race ! ' ' 

And  Esther's  face  was  shining. 


- 


I  111 


